


Does It Matter?

by overlordpotatoe



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Master/Slave, Original Slash, Slavery, slavefic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-01-17 15:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1391998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overlordpotatoe/pseuds/overlordpotatoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After losing his powers, Dara, a slave, is useful only as a torture victim for the guards. When Prince Maric offers him a new role well below his original status, he’ll gladly take it to escape the suffering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"I will cut your tongue out if you don't shut up," a familiar voice threatened as a hand fisted in Dara’s short, dark hair, but Dara refused to be quietened. He didn't care if it was true. Or he did care, but he cared about his resistance more. As he struggled, the blows he landed on his aggressors reflected pain onto him, twice as hard, lashing deep within to land in a place private and raw. He'd learnt to fight back, though his efforts perverted him. They rotted out the core of him and left something bitter in its place. He could never be what he was before, never be what he could have been, what he _should_ have been.

He screamed, too, though nobody had ever come to his rescue. Nobody had ever dared intervene in this game. He bit when they tried to gag him and pain strummed all around him, threatening to black out his vision.

The largest of the three guards easily weighed twice that of Dara’s slender frame and was just as strong as he appeared. Even doing his best angry cat impression Dara had never escaped them, but the idea of going along with what they had planned willingly was unthinkable.

They were taking him down to the dungeons. They always did, because that was where the equipment was, the restraints and the tools they would use. Dara didn't understand how hurting someone else could be fun, but then he wasn't like other men. Hurting others hurt him. If he were normal, would he understand it better? Did everyone else appreciate how someone could find joy in the blood of another, even if they didn't share in the hobby?

They had reached the stairs before a voice interrupted them. "What the hell is going on?"

The holds of the guards loosened on him and Dara struggled with renewed vigour, but their grips quickly tightened again.

"Punishment, sir. This little rat was disrespecting his betters."

"No!" Dara shouted as he struck out. A hand clamped over his mouth and he bit it, hard.

"Disrespecting his betters... how?" the man asked. Dara tried to look over his shoulder to see the man, but the guards held him too firmly for him to turn.

There was a moment of hesitation in which the men struggled to come up with a viable answer and failed. "Does it matter, sir?"

"He's in my colours," the man said, and immediately Dara froze. Dara knew whose colours he wore. The man behind him was Prince Maric. The guards would strip him of those colours before they started so that he didn't ruin them with his blood, and then leave them for him to put back on afterwards.

The last thing Dara needed was for the prince to think he was rebellious, so he dared to speak. "I didn't do anything, highness. They just like to hurt me."

" _Shut up_ ," one of the men hissed and thumped Dara’s head against the stone wall. Pain flooded out Dara's thoughts for a moment, but it was a minor injury and things quickly righted themselves.

"I could speak to you individually and see if your stories matched," the prince said. "If I find you're lying to me, though, things won't go pleasantly for you. Would you like to release him and let me get back to bed, or would you like to prove you're justified in your punishments?"

The guards exchanged looks, and a moment later Dara was released. He hit the stone floor with a strangled sound of pain.

"Good," the prince said. "Slave, come with me."

For a moment Dara froze. He couldn't move. Was he in trouble for disrupting the prince? The prince had just saved him from torture, but that didn't mean he wasn't looking to make someone pay for disturbing the peace.

" _Slave_ ," the prince repeated, more firmly this time, and Dara quickly scrabbled to his feet.

Dara had seen the prince before, but it had been many years ago and at a distance during public events. He was older now, and it was somewhat odd seeing him out of formal attire. He looked like any other twenty-something year old man — though handsomer than average, Dara couldn't help but note. The prince’s hair was a common brown and military short, but his prominent cheekbones and stormy grey eyes leant him character. Dara followed the prince quickly so as not to anger him with further delays, glad to put space between himself and the guards who had attacked him.

A door was open further down the corridor, and the prince led him through it. The prince's rooms. Dara had never known they were here, though he'd been dragged down this corridor many times. They had been unoccupied for years, though, so Dara supposed their location had been of little meaning.

The room they had entered, a kind of greeting room, was nicely decorated, but perhaps not as elaborate as Dara would have expected. The furniture was nice, there were richly dyed silk cushions and billowing silk curtains, but all in all it was rather simplistic. It matched the man standing before him: nicely dressed, neatly groomed, but no more jewellery than the ring on his finger signifying his status.

When Dara started to kneel, the prince waved a hand to indicate he should remain standing. Dara’s entire body was tense as he waited to find out what the prince wanted from him.

"Now, can you explain to me why three members of the castle guard decided they wanted to hurt you?" the prince asked, his tone unreadable.

 _Why_. That was a tough question for someone who didn't understand violence at all. Surely the prince, who was a soldier, could comprehend it better than Dara.

"I don't know, your highness," Dara said eventually, his voice quiet. "I don't know why people want to hurt other people. Do you?"

"Did you do something to get on their bad side?"

Dara shook his head firmly. "It's not that, your highness. They simply enjoy the pain of others, and with me there are no consequences."

The prince's eyebrows shot up. "Because you're mine, and I haven't been here to object?"

Suddenly, Dara realised the gap in the prince's understanding. Of course he didn't know who Dara was, or, more importantly, what he was. What he had been and what he could still do. Dara still felt rubbed raw inside, and it was distracting him.

"I'm sorry; I was unclear. I don't mark. I can heal from any injury quickly and without scarring. There's little risk of loss, nor any damage anyone cares about."

"You have magic?"

The interest in the prince’s voice made Dara squirm. “My nature is too pacifistic for me to be of use in battle, your highness. All my ability does is make me an ideal torture victim.”

The prince rubbed idly at his jaw. "Hmm. I was going to ask if you were hurt, but I suppose the answer is no."

Dara nodded. The marks the guards’ fingers had left on his pale skin had already faded. "Thank you, your highness. For making them let me go. I'm sorry I disturbed you. I know it's late. I didn't realise your rooms were down here."

The prince studied him silently for a moment before taking a step closer. "Why don't you stay a while? You've caught my curiosity. I must admit, I've always found magic rather fascinating."

Dara's pulse picked up and he averted his eyes. "Do you want to see it, your highness?"

"See it?" the prince asked. "How?"

Dara glanced up and gestured to the knife on the prince's belt, and then looked away again.

"No!" the prince said, and Dara looked up to see and expression of disgust on his face. "No, hurting other people does _not_ please me."

"I didn't mean to suggest—" Dara started. "I mean, I suppose it's simply an interesting thing to see, and I am your property. It wouldn't be such a great pain compared to what you saved me from, your highness."

"They will do it again, won't they?" the prince asked quietly.

Dara nodded.

The prince let out a sigh and tapped his chin thoughtfully. He took a few steps towards Dara until they were close enough to touch, and then reached out a hand to stroke Dara's cheek. Dara's pulse raced at the feeling of the prince’s rough, warm fingertips against his skin.

"You are very handsome. You have such delicate skin for a man, you know. Does even age not damage you?"

"I will grow old and die like any other, but I will live longer and age more slowly." It was several seconds before Dara noticed he’d forgotten to tack on the _your highness_ , but the prince didn’t even appear to have noticed, much less cared.

The prince's hand slipped down the side of Dara's neck, and he hummed contemplatively. "I think I could justify taking you with me, for certain purposes. Nobody would be permitted to lay a hand on you. Harming you would be treason."

Dara's chest squeezed tight, both out of fear and hope. The prince seemed kind, gentle. Maybe he could resist his deeply ingrained fear if it allowed him such safety. Dara nodded, his eyes aimed at the floor.

With two fingers under Dara's chin, the prince raised his face and pressed their lips together. Nobody had ever kissed Dara before, which meant that it wasn't scary but also that he was hopeless at it. He tried to copy the slow, teasing way the prince’s lips moved against his, but only ended up feeling like he was getting in the way.

"Sorry," Dara said immediately after the prince pulled away. "I'm not... I'm not trained in this. Nobody's ever kissed me before."

The prince's hands trailed up underneath Dara's uniform shirt, his fingers kneading at Dara’s skin. "Are you a virgin?"

The prince seemed to like the idea of that. Dara shook his head. He was starting to look like a disappointment all around.

Apparently the prince didn't find either his inexperience or his experience too off-putting, though, because his mouth sunk to Dara's neck. The prince sucked gently at Dara's skin, and with the prince holding Dara gently in his arms it actually felt nice. Dara let his eyes fall shut and tried to keep his breathing steady.

"I won't mark," Dara reminded the prince in case that was what he was attempting.

The prince let out a huff of laughter against Dara's ear. "I think I can deal with the loss. Come over here."

The prince tugged Dara over to a sofa by the hem of his uniform shirt and guided him down onto it before straddling Dara's hips. Dara's pulse sped up at the feeling of mild restraint. Dara had been pinned down many times, and it had never resulted in anything but pain. _Don't panic. He's kind. Even if he hurts you, it will be so much less than what others will do to you if he leaves you behind._

The prince undid the buttons on Dara's shirt and lowered his mouth to Dara's collarbone, pressing kisses against his skin that started feather light and gentle but gradually increased in urgency. Slowly the prince edged back, off of Dara, his tongue trailing a warm, damp line down Dara's chest and to his stomach. Despite his fear Dara found his hips arching up, seaking friction against the heat that was quickly pooling between his legs.

The prince’s fingers working open the buttons of Dara's pants sent a jolt of alarm through him, but the calm, gentle caress reassured him. This was different. The prince was simply enjoying Dara's pleasure. For now.

The prince tugged off Dara's pants entirely, leaving his lower half completely bared. Dara let out a cry of surprise when the prince's mouth lowered to engulf him.

For a moment the shock of it enveloped Dara. The prince pleasured slaves with his mouth? It was such an odd concept. But pleasure it certainly was, and the prince knew quite well what he was doing as he moved his head slowly up and down, exploring Dara’s straining erection with his lips and mouth. Dara dug his fingers into a cushion as he forced himself to resist the urge to thrust up into the hot embrace of the prince’s mouth.

The prince pulled back. "One moment," he said, before standing and heading into one of his other rooms. Dara stared down at his erection, the normally pale flesh flushed an angry red where he stood tall against his belly, and wondered if the prince would be cross if he touched himself. He didn’t have long to wonder, though, because a few seconds later the prince returned holding a jar of something. Grease.

Dara forced himself to stay still, not tense up too much. This was a good thing. The prince cared for his pleasure and would be gentle. Dara had known what was coming, hadn't he? An experienced man like the prince who could have whatever and whoever he wanted would hardly settle for anything less than everything. And if Dara wanted an escape from pain, he would have to allow it without resistance. He would have to welcome it.

The return of the prince's mouth helped to relax him again, but when the prince spread his knees and pushed them up to his chest, Dara started to panic. He tensed, but only for a moment, and then forced himself to relax, to become pliant. He heard the jar open and felt greased fingers slide gently over his opening. Not yet making an entrance, just teasing.

Dara flopped an arm over his face. If the prince looked up, Dara doubted he would have found the expression on Dara's face pleasing, and Dara could no longer control it. He focussed his energy on staying still. A finger carefully probed him. Though the prince’s mouth was sliding slowly up and down his length, Dara wasn't as hard as he had been. The finger pressed deeper, then slid out, then pressed deeper again.

Dara was shaking. Tears stung his eyes. _No. Stay still. Stay quiet_. He forced himself not to pull away from the contact. He needed this! The prince's mouth withdrew. The finger was taken out of him. Reflexively, Dara pulled away. He didn't realise he was curling into a ball until it was too late and his rejection was clear. It was over. He'd failed. The prince stood and left the room.

Was that a dismissal? Dara couldn't bring himself to uncurl his body and find his pants. He was too scared, too ashamed to move. He heard the prince return but didn't dare look up.

Something was draped over him. A blanket. It was wrapped around him, covering his nudity, before the prince sat down beside him. The prince pulled Dara against his chest and lay down, one hand going to stroke Dara's hair. Dara felt like a child in his mother's arms.

Dara wasn't sure what was going on, but it was oddly soothing. Stranger still, he was fairly sure that was the intention. He had just, in effect, rejected the prince, and now the prince was comforting him? It didn't make sense.

It was comfort, though, and it had been so long since anyone had bothered to offer Dara any. For just a while, he decided to relax into it and accept it. He buried his face against the prince's collarbone and quietly cried.

"I'm sorry," Dara whispered after he eventually managed to pull himself together a little. His voice cracked.

The prince hushed him and stoked up and down his back. Dara relaxed a little more.

"Why did you let me do that?" the prince asked when Dara was finally breathing slowly and smoothly. He didn't sound demanding or annoyed. Curious. Imploring.

Dara frowned. He thought the answer was obvious. "You said you'd take me with you if I did. I was just hoping I'd be able to control myself until it was over."

The prince's arms tightened around him slightly and then relaxed. "You can come with me anyway. Nothing wrong with having a bit of ornamentation around, even if you can't touch it. I suppose I could find use for an attendant."

What Dara really wanted to know was why, but he didn't dare ask. The prince's attendant! If anything, he'd just acquired a role of higher status by proving himself unsuitable for the prince's sheets. "Thank you, your highness."

The prince was silent for a moment, and then, "You didn't seem to mind things before... before the grease. Did I misread that?"

Dara was glad the prince couldn't see his face, because he could feel himself going red. "No, I... That was all new to me, so it didn't scare me. I'm sorry, I know it's selfish to take pleasure in things and then deny you anything in turn."

"Did those guards ruin you?"

Dara let out a humourless huff of laughter. _Ruin him_. That was more accurate than the prince could have realised. "No, they just like to wound me, though that leaves its own scars on my soul.” He paused as his mind wandered back to memories it usually preferred to shy away from. Memories of the day he’d lost everything. “I was out training in Daviston. Do you remember what happened in Daviston? You would have been sixteen. I was fourteen and very pretty. Anyone else would have died. Many others _did_ die. Is it cowardly to think that I would have preferred to?"

"No," the prince said almost absent mindedly. "I suppose after that it was decided that you were no longer suitable for the likes of a prince?"

The prince was clearly getting the wrong idea, but Dara decided not to correct him. He didn't need to open that old wound again. He could never be what he once was. "They tried to re-train me, but they had no success."

The prince sat up a bit and turned Dara towards him. He smiled. "I don't think you're quite so beyond repair." He leant forwards and pecked Dara on the lips.

It was so chaste that Dara couldn't help but smile back. Maybe the prince was right. Well, right about it being possible to rehabilitate him into a bed slave. That had never been the goal, but it would put his good looks to use.

The prince leant forward and kissed him again, but this time he didn't pull back. Dara hesitantly returned the kiss. He was fairly sure the prince wouldn't simply resume things where they'd left off. Would he? Kissing, though... Dara had decided he liked kissing.

The prince pulled back and studied Dara for a moment. "You don't seem to have any objections to that. There were a few other things you didn't object to either, if I recall."

"What are you going to do?" Dara asked cautiously. Not that he had any right to question the prince, but the prince hadn't seemed to appreciate Dara allowing himself to be drawn into things he didn't want last time.

"I was thinking the same thing as before, minus the part you didn't like, and for longer," the prince said. He seemed surprisingly enthused with the idea. "Objections?"

Dara wanted to ask if that was truly absolutely all, because that sounded rather unbalanced in terms of mutual pleasure. He'd already questioned the prince enough, though, so he just shook his head.

The prince unwrapped Dara from the blanket, baring his mostly naked body, and leant over him as he had last time. He pressed a kiss so light it almost tickled to Dara’s neck, then made a trail of them down his chest and belly. As they got lower the kisses grew firmer, more sensual, and by the time the prince’s lips brushed Dara’s cock it was straining with need.

Dara bit the back of his hand as the prince drew him into his mouth, doing his best to stay still and quiet, but he soon realised the prince didn't want him to. Every sound, every movement, resulted in the prince sucking him with greater determination. Dara surrendered himself to it, and it wasn't long before he was on the edge of release.

"Stop!" Dara gasped. "I'm going to..."

The prince's eyes slid up to Dara's face, and his lips curved into a smile as best they could when they were occupied as they were. Dara eyes squeezed shut again and his hips jerked as he spilled himself in the prince’s mouth.

Dara was surprised how safe he felt as he lay panting and sated. The prince had a way about him that Dara found quite reassuring now that they understood one another better. Dara didn't doubt that he was a good man.

It was kind of funny, really. This would have been considered a perversion of his purpose if there were anything left of him to pervert. Dara didn't think something like this ever would have harmed him, though. It wasn't sex that was the danger but rather the selfish way in which slaves were often treated when it came to sex. When it came to anything, really.

Once Dara had properly come down from his release, he sat up and pulled his legs to his chest to conceal his nudity. Arousal had temporarily banished his modesty, but now that he had spent himself he was beginning to feel too exposed. "I don't think I can do the same for you. I could try, but... you didn't seem to find my reaction pleasing last time."

"I think it would be best if we left it at that this time," the prince said, though there was still a noticeable bulge stretching the fabric of his pants. Dara decided not to question the prince's decision.

"Before you leave, I think I should give you something," the prince said. He disappeared through the same door he had earlier and returned holding a medallion with his crest on it. He handed it to Dara. "To keep you safe until we leave. Anyone who dares touch you while you're wearing that would have to be a madman."

Dara wasn't sure those who took up torture as a hobby were entirely sane, but he hoped the medallion would deter them all the same. He slipped it around his neck and the gold pendant rested against his bare chest.

The prince grinned, his gaze lingering on the medallion for a moment before wandering down further. "It looks good on you. We will have to get you a new uniform, too. It pleases me to see you in my colours, but the one you have now is old and poorly fitted."

Dara felt irrationally ashamed of his shabby clothing all of a sudden. It wasn't his fault they didn't fit him too well or that the years had left them in poor condition. He wanted to please the prince so very badly, though, and he was well aware of the many ways he hadn't.

As the prince had suggested it was time for Dara to leave, Dara pulled his pants back on and began doing up the buttons on his shirt. The prince watched him appreciatively, making Dara feel self conscious but at the same time flush with pride. If nothing else, the prince found him pleasing to the eye.

Despite the pleasure the prince had brought him, Dara felt better once his clothing was back in place. However kind of the prince had been to him, Dara was well aware that he belonged to this man and that kindness of any sort was always optional for him.

Before Dara left the prince embraced him and kissed him gently on the mouth, chaste but lingering. "Take care, sweet one."

#

Prince Maric didn't generally keep slaves and he'd never seen the need for a personal attendant. He could take care of his own needs. He certainly found the idea of keeping Dara around pleasing, though, if only for ornamentation and occasional mild exploration. The image of Dara's face flushing as he came was firmly imprinted in Maric's mind, and now that he was alone he recalled it while he took care of his arousal.

Dara’s pale skin and dark hair were characteristic of the Enth, but with his gentle features and flawless complexion the contrast was even more stunning. Dara’s uniform had brought out the blue of his eyes, but somehow they’d stood out even brighter once Maric had stripped him of his clothing. Wider, perhaps, his pupils blown as he’d watched Maric’s mouth tend to his erection until he had been unable to keep his eyes open any longer against the force of his pleasure.

How had such a treasure been hidden away from Maric for so long? Even with all of his limitations, the very fact that Dara had magic of any kind increased his value. Even amongst the Enth, the only race that possessed magic, magical abilities were uncommon.

Maric was used to harem slaves in palaces he visited, aristocrats, and fellow soldiers, but nobody quite like Dara. He was an interesting novelty. In truth, though, guilt had also been a motivating factor in taking Dara with him. In his extended absence he had allowed Dara, who was his property, to be hurt, and in his carelessness had then hurt Dara more. He took pride in dealing with the carnal needs of those he bedded, but emotional needs were an area he lacked experience in. He would have to learn to be more careful. Disappointing a sexual partner was a blow to his pride, but hurting one was unthinkable.

And yet, while his guilt at Dara's pain had saddened him, comforting Dara had still felt good in its own way. Maric was a prince with no children or long term romantic partners; he wasn't expected to comfort anyone. He was assumed to be above it.

Whatever happened with Dara, Maric was certain it would be an interesting learning experience.

#

When Dara stepped out of the palace, he wasn't surprised to find the three guards who made his life a living hell waiting for him. For a moment he was tempted to turn around and run back inside, back to the prince's protection, but that would have been cowardly and he didn't want the prince to think him a coward. Besides, the prince had given him something to ensure his safety. Dara only hoped that it would work.

He fished the medallion out from under his shirt and held it up for them to see. "I'm under the protection of Prince Maric now. He would be very upset if I were to be harmed."

One of them let out a derisive snort of laughter. "What did you do to earn that, kid? You bending for the prince now?"

It was supposed to be an insult, but Dara didn't see how. His status had been so low before that sharing a bed with the prince was a huge step up.

When Dara didn't respond, another said, "You couldn't prove we did anything anyway. It'd be your word against ours, and nobody'd believe a slave over three members of the king's guard."

"Or maybe we'll just kill you, once and for all," the third said. "Throw your body in the river. Nobody'll ever find you."

"I think after what he saw he would very much believe you would hurt me again, and if anything were to happen to me he would know exactly where to look." Dara shrugged and started walking away. "Or you can try it and find out just how much he values a warm body between his sheets."

It was a gamble, but then anything he did at that point was. He wanted to run, but he made himself pass by them at a normal pace. He was sure that if he ran their predatory instincts would kick in.

If he were honest, he didn't know how much the prince would care if he were harmed, especially if it left no marks. The prince would be annoyed, certainly, as he seemed to care for Dara's safety, but Dara wasn't sure his response would involve giving the perpetrators anything more than a light slap on the wrist. Then again, he had given Dara his medallion. The prince would be expected to respond to the insult of someone laying hands on what he had claimed as his own.

The guards didn't follow, and once Dara rounded a corner he let out a sigh of relief. He still had a couple of days remaining before he would leave with the prince, but for just then it seemed he was safe.

Dara had a room in the barracks which he shared with the other slaves who kept the barracks in order and saw to the needs of the guards, and that was where he returned to now. It was quite late and he was exhausted, but when he lay down on his cot near the fire to sleep he couldn't stop the buzzing in his mind. So much had happened. So much was going to happen. Finally, hopefully, things might just be starting to go his way.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Dara cleaned himself extra thoroughly the next morning, just in case the prince wanted to see him again. After a full day of work and being accosted by the guards, Dara hadn't been at his best last night, and it made him feel embarrassed. The prince could have anyone, so the least Dara could do was be clean.

There wasn't much he could do to make his uniform more presentable, though. He had a spare one, but despite his best efforts to keep them in good condition time had left them worn and stained.

Apparently the prince hadn’t forgotten him, because just before noon the tailor's assistant showed up to measure him. Nobody had bothered to do that for him in a long time, not since he had had actual value to someone. Maybe this meant he was valued again, though obviously for different reasons. Reasons that were likely to be rather temporary as the prince's attention wandered. It was something, though, and Dara was grateful for it.

He didn't see or hear from the prince again over the next couple of days, and he was beginning to fear he had been forgotten before finally, on the day the prince was to leave, one of the palace slaves came with summons from the prince. It seemed the prince had just instructed whoever was closest to go to fetch Dara, regardless of their usual function. The palace slave looked uncomfortable in the unfamiliar surroundings of the barracks, so Dara washed up as quickly as he could before following.

When Dara reached the prince's room, the prince let him in with a smile. He was dressed to ride in blue cloth and brown leather, and though the clothing was well made the simplicity of the design disguised his status. Combined with his easy cheer and the casual way he brushed Dara’s hair away from his face in passing, it was easy to forget he was a prince. _Too_ easy. He handed Dara a bundle of clothes. "Change."

The prince had spoken perfunctorily, but an almost smug smile crept onto his lips as Dara started to unbutton his pants. He reminded Dara of the way the barrack’s cat watched as its bowl was filled, patient but alert and quietly self assured that it would get what it wanted, what it deserved just for existing.

With the way the prince was watching him, Dara half expected him to initiate some kind of repeat performance of the other night. He didn't. It wasn't until Dara had exchanged his old pants for the new ones and was putting on his new shirt that the prince finally approached him. He pushed Dara's hands away and began doing his shirt buttons up.

"I thought I was supposed to be the one doing these kinds of things for you," Dara mused out loud, and then immediately wondered if he had spoken out of turn. It was much too easy to forget his place when the prince treated him so kindly.

The prince gave him a lascivious grin. "Perhaps you can help me take my clothes off tonight."

An imagine of the prince naked came unbidden into Dara's mind and he flushed. Not that he knew what the prince's naked body looked like, but he'd seen enough naked men changing and washing up in the barracks to make a guess. The thought of the prince naked was a little scary, but fear wasn't the only thing tightening Dara's gut.

"It looks good on you," the prince said, and it took Dara a moment to realise he meant the uniform. The prince had finished with the buttons and was standing back to look Dara over carefully. "I like you in my colours. The darker blue is a close match for your eyes."

A blue the colour of a bright summer sky and a lighter blue not far off white were the prince's colours. On Dara’s old uniform the colours had gone faded and greyed over the years, but the colours on these new clothes were vibrant and fresh.

"I have a spare packed for you, but there was only time to get the two sets made, so I expect you to take good care of them," the prince said, and Dara nodded quickly. The prince smiled. "Come along, now. There's something I think you should see before we leave."

The prince's hand was on Dara's arm as he led him down the corridor, and somehow the loose grip was more comforting than confining as it might have been from someone else. The unnecessary contact felt like a kind of possession, and it had always been Dara's desire to be possessed by the prince. It was unfortunate that his past experiences had put limitations on the extent of that possession.

Outside the sun's rays warmed their skin as the prince led Dara down a path towards the training grounds. It was a place Dara always avoided due to the violent purpose of it, but it wasn't an issue worth defying the prince over.

As they got closer, pain prickled and then sparked at the edge of Dara's mind. Someone was hurt. His eyes soon registered what his body had felt: there was a public whipping taking place. The whip cracked on bare flesh, searing a line across it, and it scorched Dara inside somewhere deep and intimate. He felt nauseated.

Somehow Dara managed to continue to put one foot in front of the other so as not to resist the prince. The second hand pain Dara was experiencing was so distracting that he didn't piece together what was going on until they were standing directly in front of the whipping post and one of the guards who had tormented him was scowling down at him. The other two guards were being held off to the side, awaiting their turns.

The guards were being punished, presumably for hurting Dara, and the prince had brought Dara here to show him. Was that something most people would want to see? Dara supposed it might be. Justice, vengeance, they were things people had a powerful desire for. The whip landed again and Dara flinched.

The prince must have felt the movement under his hand, because he glanced over at Dara and then frowned. Dara imagined he must have looked a mess. Pale, sweating, and following the next lash, shaking. Another strike pushed him past the edge, and Dara pulled away from the prince and ran to the nearest bush. He promptly regurgitated his breakfast.

The prince walked over slowly, and by the time he reached Dara, Dara was done. He still wasn't far enough away, though. He could feel and hear each time the tail of the whip connected with flesh, each strike making his shoulders jerk involuntarily.

"When you said you were a pacifist, this is not quite what I had expected," the prince said dryly, but he was frowning at Dara with concern. "Come on, you don't look like you're getting any satisfaction out of bearing witness to this."

Dara didn't really pay much attention to where he was being led, but somehow they ended up in front of the palace. There was a gathering of soldiers and horses as well as two wagons. The soldiers were all dressed in the prince's colours, though their uniforms were of a more rugged design meant for harder wear than the one Dara had been given.

The prince sat Dara down in the back of one of the wagons, left for a minute, and then returned with a cup of water. Dara rinsed out his mouth and then drank the rest of it.

It was odd when the prince did things for him. Was that how the prince normally behaved, or was it something particular to Dara? Perhaps he had a nurturing nature — which was also strange to think about — and Dara had triggered it with his frequent shows of vulnerability.

"You'll be riding in here, so get comfortable," the prince told him.

Dara looked around the wagon. It was covered, providing him shelter from the sun, but there wasn't much room in amongst all the luggage and supplies. Dara would have preferred to ride, but he supposed he wasn't nearly worth the cost of even the cheapest horse anymore.

He'd had a horse once, back when he was worth something. She had been a dapple mare, a gift from the king's own stable. She had been passed along to some courtier when Dara had proven he would no longer be useful. He missed riding.

The prince's horse, Dara found when a stable boy led him over, was pure white. Dara didn't think the horse suited the prince, with his deeply tanned skin and brown hair, terribly well. The clothing he was wearing to ride was of a slightly more complex cut than that of his men and bore shiny silver buttons, but if Dara hadn’t known his status he would have guessed he was just a higher ranking soldier.

The horse pulled at its lead rope and the prince allowed him enough slack to approach the wagon and nuzzle at Dara. Dara smiled and scratched the horse's ear.

"He really likes you," the prince said, surprise evident in his voice.

"Animals can sense something about me," Dara told him. "I wish I could have worked in the stables instead. I think the only reason I wasn't allowed to was to put me in my place. To remind me that I didn't get things just because I wanted them."

"Working in the barracks was such a waste of you," the prince said, and Dara got the feeling he wasn't suggesting that the stables would have been a better place for him.

Didn't he remember Dara's blatant inadequacies in the areas the prince wanted him for? A fun diversion for a prince, perhaps, but nothing anyone wouldn't quickly tire of. Dara just hoped that, when the prince inevitably grew bored of him, he would have enough sense not to try to get Dara to continue being a bed slave. Nobody else would want him if they wished to respect his boundaries, and if they didn't care what Dara wanted it would be only a small step up from his previous role of barracks slave and occasional torture victim.

The prince led his horse away and then mounted before riding off to lead the congregation. Dara was left alone as the wagon began to make its bumpy path down the road into the city beyond.

Dara hadn't been allowed out of palace grounds for years, so there was much to see in the city as they made their slow path through it. He wished he could stop, buy a sugared pastry from a merchant, explore the marketplace. People gawked at them as they passed, but their gazes rarely fell on Dara. The prince was an interesting sight, and perhaps the soldiers in their grand uniforms, on their fine horses, but Dara was just a simple slave in the back of a wagon. That was fine. He'd come to prefer to avoid attention.

There wasn't much to see after they left the city, just farmland, but after a while the prince lagged back to ride behind the wagon. Apparently his taking the lead was purely for show and not something he particularly cared about.

Another man came to ride beside the prince, the silver thread on his slightly more elaborate uniform suggesting he was the captain of the guard. This man, with his golden hair and classically handsome features, would have looked far less out of place on top of Maric’s brilliant white horse. Dara suspected the fine sword that hung at his hip was as deadly as it was decorative.

The captain was smiling and he was looking at Dara, but he wasn't quite smiling at Dara. He was looking Dara over rather than looking him in the eye.

"Well, I certainly see what appeal you found in him," the captain said to the prince without taking his eyes off Dara. "Perhaps you'd be open to sharing?"

Fear clenched at Dara's heart. He had come to trust that the prince would avoid causing him harm, but there was no guarantee anyone else would be so careful.

When the prince smiled, it was for Dara. "I think not."

"Are you sure?" the captain asked. "You could be there too. Make things interesting."

For a moment the prince seemed almost to consider it, but then he chuckled and shook his head. "I'm afraid you'll have to find your satisfaction elsewhere this time, Brayan."

Dara found it interesting to hear the way the captain — Brayan — spoke to the prince, and how the prince responded in turn. The prince didn't seem to care at all about enforcing his rank, and his inferiors felt comfortable enough to openly question him. Even the soldiers of lower rank seemed relaxed around him. Of course, that didn't mean such things extended to Dara except when it was the prince's whim. He wouldn't dare behave so irreverently towards the prince. Once upon a time it would have been expected of him, but not now.

They ate lunch on the move, which was easier for Dara in the wagon than it was for the men riding. They seemed to be used to it, though. They tossed food to each other and caught it with practised grace.

The countryside they were travelling through quickly became dull, but observing the people around him was enough to keep Dara from growing bored. It was as much a matter of self preservation as it was curiosity. Dara needed to know if any of these men intended to hurt him.

For the most part the prince's men ignored Dara, but a few gave him their attention. Brayan had already made the nature of his interest clear, but he hadn't seemed to resent the rejection. Dara decided he seemed safe enough.

The youngest member of the guard was named Raedon and appeared to be barely eighteen. His attention was not on Dara, but rather on the prince when the prince's attention strayed to Dara. There were no signs of jealousy, just the kind of interest held by someone watching a play. What was happening between Dara and the prince was some kind of fascinating drama to Raedon. Dara could only guess that he'd gotten his position on the guard at the request of his older brother, Mathers, who didn't stray from his side once during the long day's ride. Both men were mousy haired and freckle faced, but not displeasing to the eye.

The oldest of the prince's men, a man in his forties named Garred, rode beside the wagon for a while after the early excitement of being on the move had quietened. He told Dara about his granddaughter, newborn and healthy, and shared a paper bag of dried dates with him. Just having someone's attention had Dara on edge at first, but he soon realised he recognised what Garred was doing. Dara had played confidant many times in the castle barracks for soldiers who cared more about clearing their minds than who was listening.

By the time they finally stopped at an inn for the night, light was fading and Dara had decided the prince’s men posed no immediate threat to him. Men moved around, stabling horses and heading into the tavern to get dinner, and Dara was left lost in the chaos. Where did he fit into all of this? He glanced back at the wagon. There was a blanket in there, and he still had some leftover cheese and bread from lunch...

Dara was contemplating climbing back in and settling down for the night when a hand landed on his shoulder. He jumped and turned to find the prince smiling down at him.

"Come on," the prince said, and then turned and headed towards the inn. Dara hurried to catch up.

The prince led him inside the inn, past the tavern, up a flight of stairs, and through a door at the end of the hall. The room beyond was simple but clean and held a large bed and a tub of steaming water. They must have known the prince was coming.

After shutting and locking the door the prince began to unbutton his shirt, and then paused. "Oh. I was going to let you do this, wasn't I?"

Dara flushed and immediately went over to help the prince out of his clothes. Dara had barely begun, the prince's shirt half way unbuttoned, when the prince tipped Dara’s chin up for a kiss. It was slow, undemanding, tender. Somehow Dara couldn't feel like he was an object good for nothing but pleasure when the prince kissed him like that. He was, but he was able to forget it.

It was hard to focus on his task with the prince's lips on his and the prince's hands roaming over his body. By the time all of the button's on the prince's shirt were undone and Dara was pushing it off his shoulders, the prince had Dara's own shirt half way unbuttoned too.

"You're so lovely," the prince murmured into Dara's ear, and Dara felt special. It had been a long time since he'd felt like he mattered even a little bit. When he went to start on the prince's pants, he discovered the prince was hard.

And... Dara sort of wanted to see it. He knew what it could be used for and that scared him, but he couldn't deny that beyond the fear the prince's body held appeal. He was a fine looking man and he knew just how to touch Dara to make him feel good. Even so, Dara made sure not to brush against the bulge any more than he needed to in order to remove the prince's pants. It wasn't his place to make any move the prince hadn't requested.

It was strange to see it, when it was finally bared. Such an intimate part of such an important man. It stood as tall and proud as the prince himself, the sensitive skin flushed pink at the tip. He was larger than Dara in this way as he was in all others, thicker and longer in proportion with the rest of his body. Dara’s fingers flexed unconsciously with the desire to touch it, to feel the heat of it and the softness of the skin, but he kept his hands to himself and awaited direction.

Dara's shirt was off and then the prince had his hands on Dara's pants, _in_ Dara's pants. His every movement held gained greater enthusiasm, but Dara trusted him not to do anything that might cause him any kind of fear or pain. Dara _did_ trust him, didn't he? The prince's mouth was on Dara's throat and Dara's pants were being slid down his thighs. Soon they were both naked, their bodies pressed together.

"I think we should wash some of the sweat and dust off our bodies, don't you?" the prince asked. It was a rhetorical question so Dara didn't answer, just followed the prince over to the tub.

The prince climbed in first, and then moved back far enough to allow Dara room to get in in front of him. There was barely space to fit both of them and the tub almost overflowed, but they managed it. Dara could feel the prince's hardness pressing against the small of his back. He shifted into a more comfortable position against the prince and he felt it twitch against him in response to the movement.

The prince didn't seem to be in any hurry to do anything more, so Dara slowly relaxed into the water and against the prince's body. It was nice to have a proper bath. He hadn't had one in years. Dara closed his eyes as the prince slid a bar of soap over his body.

The prince wasn't shy about touching every part of Dara, but his hands didn't linger in any one place for more than a few moments. It was a slow exploration rather than an attempt at anything in particular. It was impossible to forget about the prince’s state of arousal with it pressing against Dara as it was, though. Dara responded with a hardness of his own and a tension that didn’t quite bleed out of his muscles no matter how long the prince graced his skin with gentle touches.

Eventually, after Dara's body had been thoroughly touched and cleaned, the prince's hand wrapped around him and began a slow but steady stroke. Each time the prince moved his arm he rocked his hips up, rubbing himself against the small of Dara’s back with steadily increasing neediness.

"Here, get out," the prince said before Dara could get too into things. Disappointed, Dara obeyed.

The prince washed himself quickly and efficiently, rubbing soap over his body and dunking his head under the water to rinse out his hair. When he was done he climbed out and reached for a towel. He dried both of them off without preamble, his erection pressed hard against his belly throughout, and then tugged Dara over to the bed. He flopped down and pulled Dara on top of him.

Dara was more comfortable with this, being on top, but it was an odd feeling to have a man of the prince’s status beneath him. To have _anyone_ beneath him. The prince pushed a hand down on Dara's ass and ground up against him.

"You move too," the prince said when Dara just lay there, still and pliant. "Don't presume too much, but get involved. Take some initiative."

He spoke like a tutor, and Dara got the feeling that was exactly what the prince was aiming for. He didn't wish simply to use Dara, he wished to train Dara into a bed slave. Dara was fairly sure he was wasting his time, but he would do whatever he could to please the prince. He would do anything, no matter how it hurt him, so he hoped the prince maintained his patience. Surely there would be a limit it it, though, and then what?

There was no room in Dara’s mind for such worries just then, though, as he mimicked the way the prince was grinding against him. It was too difficult to pace properly to quite get off on, but it was enough to fill Dara with a desperate need.

The prince's hands travelled over Dara’s ass and up the backs of his thighs but didn't delve anywhere more intimate, though Dara was sure that was what the prince would have liked. It made Dara feel bad, not to be able to give the prince what he truly wanted. The prince shifted Dara off, and then used his mouth to finish him off.

As Dara was coming down, the prince lay down next to him. He took one of Dara's hands and wrapped it around his member. "You can do this, yes?"

Dara could indeed do that, though it felt a little juvenile. If the prince minded, though, he kept it to himself and enjoyed Dara's touch.

As the pace of the prince's breathing increased he wrapped his hand around Dara's, tightening his grip and making the strokes firmer, faster, showing Dara how he liked it. He spilled himself over both of their hands.

"See?" the prince said after his breathing had steadied and they’d wiped themselves down. "I think whoever gave up on you didn't put enough effort in. All you need is a gentle hand and a bit of patience."

Dara almost laughed. Of course the prince thought Dara had been destined for his sheets. After all, Dara had intentionally allowed him to believe it. He didn't like to think about what he'd really lost.

When Dara said nothing, the prince kissed his chin. "You don't speak much."

Dara frowned. "What would you like me to say?"

"Whatever's on your mind. A bed mate is far more interesting when he has something to say."

Dara thought for a moment. He didn't really have anything of interest to say. All the training he’d received on making conversation with those of high status had faded from his memory. Eventually he decided on, "I liked that. That was nice. Nobody has ever given me pleasure before, and I wouldn't have expected you to care to."

The prince's lips stretched into a broad smile. "It's a matter of pride. Anyone can take pleasure, but giving it is a worthwhile skill."

Dara didn't see why such a thing should matter to a prince. Who would say no to him or berate him if he were a selfish lover?

They rinsed off again in the tub, and then the prince ordered some food to be brought up for them. Dara was glad not to have to go down into the busy tavern and be out of place amongst all the soldiers.

"You make me feel safe," Dara told the prince as they ate.

The prince gave Dara a questioning look over the table.

"You told me to speak my mind, so I just wanted to say that... you make me feel safe, and I haven't felt safe in a long time. Thank you."

"You're welcome," was all the prince said, but his voice was warm and his smile was reassuring.

They shared the bed that night, Dara spooned in front of the prince, and despite the unfamiliar feeling of a body so close to his own Dara slept well.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Having Dara with them certainly made the remaining half day's ride to Sarasen more interesting. Dara was a pretty thing to look at, and whenever silence fell among the men Maric found his mind wandering to all the things he could do with Dara. In a way, having to work around Dara's inexperience and limitations was fun. It was a challenge. And the idea of slowly pushing those barriers until Dara opened up to him fully... well, that was certainly an idea that appealed. He would have to be careful, though. Seeing Dara shaking and crying that first night due to Maric’s carelessness was not an experience Maric wished to repeat.

Maric was visiting the city of Sarasen for diplomatic purposes, which meant lots of smiling and putting on his charms and no time to spend dallying with Dara. Well, not until later on that night, anyhow. Sarasen used to be a kingdom of its own like many of the cities in this area, but after Maric's ancestors had conquered them they had been demoted to cities. They still had palaces of their own, though, and nobles who oversaw the general running of the cities.

Maric moved to ride at the front of the group as they approached the city, ready to put on a show for the people who had come out to line the streets. He waved at the people and threw copper coins for them to squabble over, stroked the heads of infants held up to him and smiled at the pretty young ladies who had put on their finest dresses to come and see him. Overall, it was attention he could have done without.

When they reached the palace Maric brought Dara up to his rooms before leaving Dara in the main room and going alone to the washroom to take a bath. He didn't need Dara tempting him into distraction when he had things he needed to be attending to. Once washed and dressed in finer clothes, he headed back into the main room to speak to Dara.

"There's a banquet tonight, so make sure you're washed up and dressed in your spare uniform by dusk.”

Dara's eyebrows raised almost imperceptibly. "You're bringing me?"

"I can't think of a good excuse to smuggle any of my men to the end of the table I'll be sitting at with the nobles, but a slave kneeling next to me on the floor won't cause any controversy."

Dara looked concerned, but he made no complaints, so Maric headed down to face his hosts.

He didn't like this part of his role at all. He preferred the military. Here there were so many rules he had to follow and so many things he was expected to be. Conversation was dull, but he was obligated to feign interest.

Maric was relieved when he was finally able to return to Dara to bring him down to the banquet. When he returned to his room, he found Dara dressed and ready to go and looking rather nervous.

Dara frowned down at his uniform. "I suppose I just look the same as I always do. Is that okay?"

If Maric had wanted Dara to fit in with the other personal slaves who would be there, Dara would have been wearing fewer clothes and perhaps have paint on his face. The paint he could definitely do without, and while fewer clothes certainly would have appealed to Maric's eyes he was sure that would have only made Dara feel more vulnerable. Besides, he preferred Dara's exposed body to be for his eyes only.

"If there was something else I thought you'd look better in, I suppose I'd just get you to wear that all the time instead," Maric said flippantly. "Come along."

Of course, that wasn't entirely true. Maric knew very well that complete nudity suited Dara far better, for one thing.

From the moment they left the room Dara was sticking unnecessarily close to Maric, and he only drew closer as they descended the stairs and entered the crowd. Honestly, Maric didn't mind at all. If it had been someone else with different intentions he might have, but he knew Dara was simply unaccustomed to all the attention and was responding genuinely. Dara didn't know how to bluster and fake like the slaves of other guests who were following their masters about.

As soon as he could extricate himself, he led Dara over to the banquet table. Maric sat in his chair, and Dara knelt on the floor to his right. The lord sitting in the next seat over on Maric's right had a slave of his own with him, and he moved his slave to his left side so that the two slaves could speak. They didn't. Dara seemed too tense for conversation, and the other slave seemed to have sensed that they were not alike.

Dara watched the other slave, though, and how he interacted with his master. When Maric offered him a piece of dried fruit he took it with his mouth, and his lips dragged over Maric's fingertips. _Good boy_. He was learning. Maric gave his hair a quick stroke, but it soon turned into a not-so-quick stroke when Dara leant into the touch. It wasn't just an act, either, like it might have been from any one of the others slaves in attendance. Maric's touch simply reassured him.

Maric made sure to reassure him at every opportunity throughout the banquet. It made the conversation he was forced to partake in far more tolerable. Of course, it was a little distracting. By the end of the evening all he could think about was stripping Dara out of his uniform and... and anything, really. Anything, everything. Maric didn't care as long as it ended with them both satisfied and covered in sweat and other bodily fluids. He excused himself from the banquet as early as politely possible.

He shut the door to his room, locked it, and turned to Dara. "I have had a very long night and am badly in need of some relaxation."

"Should I... undress you?" Dara asked.

It was adorable, sexy, and promising. Maric grinned. "That's an idea I can certainly get behind."

This time, Maric didn't interrupt or rush Dara's undressing of him, instead enjoying the careful, gentle touch of Dara's fingers as he worked at buttons and slid fabric from Maric's skin.

"Do you want me to take my clothes off, or...?" Dara asked once Maric stood completely naked. There was a slight flush to Dara’s cheeks and despite the fact that they’d done this before, his eyes flicked over Maric’s body like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to look.

Maric considered Dara’s offer. A strip show did sound appealing, but he rather wanted to return the favour of a gentle undressing. "No, I think I'll take care of that."

Dara’s skin was warm and pliant beneath Maric’s fingertips as Maric picked open buttons, unbelievably soft for someone with the body of a grown man. Maric could feel the rise and fall of Dara’s chest under his hands, too heavy and never quite even. Maric hoped it was mostly arousal stirring him up and not a return of his fear.

"Um," Dara said once his shirt was off and Maric was just about to start on his pants. Maric paused. Whatever he wanted to say, Dara sounded nervous about it.

"I think I could — if you want — I think I could do something. With my tongue. I mean I think I would respond badly if I put it in my mouth, but my tongue…” Dara let out a long breath and took another in before continuing. “I know it's not much by comparison, but I thought maybe you might want to try it anyway."

Maric grinned so wide it made his cheeks hurt. "Yes, I think I rather would like that. Let's get these pants off you first, hm?"

Once they were both naked and on the bed with Dara braced on his elbows between Maric's spread legs, Dara stared down at Maric's erection like it was a puzzle. He didn't seem quite sure what to do with it now that they'd reached this point. Maric was just about to offer some instruction when Dara leant forward, grasped it loosely, and slowly swiped his tongue over the head.

The intensity of Maric's reaction was unreasonable. He'd had far more skilled mouths on him before, but somehow Dara's slow uncertainty aroused him beyond belief. Not getting whatever he wanted whenever he wanted made what he _did_ get more valuable.

Encouraged by the way Maric had arched his back and exhaled sharply, Dara repeated the action. He was carefully watched Maric's face for reaction, wide blue eyes meeting Maric’s.

Dara's hand began slowly working Maric as his tongue and soft, pink lips roamed. Maric wanted more so badly, something that ramped up tenfold when Dara's lips covered the head of his member and sucked gently. He never went any further down than that, though, and Maric resisted the urge to encourage him. It would likely undo the progress they'd made if Maric did something to scare him.

As Dara continued and Maric's responses were overwhelmingly positive, Dara began to gain confidence. The tension bled out of him, and he started to look like he was having fun eliciting reactions from Maric rather than fearing he would fail to. He seemed to have remembered what Maric had shown him about how he liked to be stroked, too, because as Maric drew closer to the edge Dara's hand gripped him tighter and pumped him faster.

Dara had gone back to suckling on the head of Maric's member when Maric finally reached his peak, and it was an act of sheer will to push his face away at the last moment. He didn't know how Dara would have felt about Maric finishing in his mouth, but it would have been the absolute worst time to upset him. Maric came on his own stomach instead.

There were pieces of cloth draped over the bed frame for exactly this purpose, and Dara used one to clean Maric up as Maric lay panting. When sexual desire had temporarily been abated, Dara’s gentle touch was pleasant in entirely different ways.

Maric was bone tired and sated, but Dara wasn't and Maric was a good lover. "Come here."

Maric carefully positioned Dara until he was holding onto the top of the bed frame and kneeling over Maric's face so that Maric could blow him without having to get up. He was a responsive lover, every brush of lips or fingers eliciting a whimper or a twitch. Only a few sucks in, Dara was breathing harshly and his thighs were shaking.

It didn't take Maric long to realise that Dara's problem wasn't just arousal. He was in a position where thrusting was very much the natural response to being engulfed in something tight and warm, but he didn't dare to. Maric encouraged him into a slow, manageable thrust. He was still trembling slightly, but now it was pure arousal. When Dara came, Maric pulled him deep inside his mouth and swallowed around him.

Dara let out a low, satisfied groan as he flopped down on the bed next to Maric. For a while they just lay like that, side by side, relaxing, and then Dara rolled over and curled into Maric's side. It felt good, having him there, and knowing he was cuddling because he wanted to cuddle, not because it was part of some training. Maric wrapped his arms around Dara and pulled him closer.

"Mm cold," Dara mumbled eventually, and Maric shifted around so that he could pull the covers over them. Eventually they fell asleep.

#

There was time for a quick dalliance in the morning, just hands on skin in the bath until they were both satisfied. Dara went with Maric down to breakfast and sat next to him on the floor, but this time instead of hand feeding him Maric passed a plate of his own down to him. Nobody seemed bothered by it. They understood that in smaller gatherings early in the morning rules could be relaxed to make things easier.

Not that there were any strict rules as such, especially not for someone of Maric's status. It was simply a matter of expectations, and when it came to these diplomatic assignments his father would be displeased if he kicked up too much controversy. Not that Maric had ever cared too much about what his father thought. His respect for the man had only decreased since childhood until he'd eventually simply left with the military when he was sixteen. He had returned only a few times since, and never for more than a few days.

#

Dara wasn't sure if he was glad to be leaving this palace behind and heading on to the next one. On the one hand he found being in a palace surrounded by nobles intimidating, but on the other he had grown extremely tired of travelling. Perhaps if he asked the prince nicely he would find a book for him? Would that be too big of an ask? Maybe next time. By the time he thought of it they were already outside preparing to leave, and Dara didn't want to hold things up.

They spent the whole of the next day travelling, not stopping until there was no light left to ride by. Dara had hoped to be able to retreat immediately to spend private time alone with the prince, but today the prince chose to eat down in the tavern with his men. Dara sat on the floor and leant against the prince's leg, fatigue making it hard to stay alert even in such chaotic surroundings. His dinner was a collection of morsels from the prince's plate hand fed to him.

By the time they were finally alone again, Dara was exhausted. Maric did all the work as he stripped Dara out of his clothes and then pushed him down onto the bed and took care of him with his mouth. It wasn't until Dara woke the next morning that he realised he'd fallen asleep without doing anything to return the favour. He remedied that with his hands while they bathed before leaving.

#

Dara had been eating an apple, and as the prince stood next to his horse and spoke with a fidgety stable boy Dara fed the core to the horse. The horse might not have suited the prince, but he was certainly a magnificent thing. He nuzzled Dara's chest gratefully and Dara wrapped his arms around the horse's neck.

"I might just get jealous if you keep that up," the prince said, and Dara looked up to find that the stable boy had left.

Dara bit down the urge to apologise, since it hadn't been a genuine scolding.

"Would you like to ride double with me for a while?" the prince asked when Dara responded only with nervous shuffling.

Dara's face immediately lit up. "Yes."

"Have you ever ridden before?" the prince asked as he mounted. He held a hand out to Dara.

"Yes." Dara allowed himself to be pulled up onto the horse in front of the prince. "I used to have a horse of my own. She was beautiful. But then, after what happened, the horse was worth more than I was, so they took her away."

"Slaves wouldn't usually be given things like horses of their own," the prince noted. "They must have had high hopes for you."

"Yes, well..." Dara couldn't think of an explanation for that abnormality other than the truth and didn't want to actively lie, so he stopped there. The prince didn't seem to notice. He was too busy sliding his hand under Dara's shirt to stroke the skin of his stomach.

The next few hours of riding were far more interesting than riding in the wagon ever had been. The prince's touches remained idle, teasing but never vulgar, and were making Dara look forward to when they would stop for the night even more. The steady gate of the horse relaxed him, and the view was far better from atop the horse.

Dara was just nibbling on the last of his bread from lunch when something ahead of them in the undergrowth that ran along the side of the road brushed against his mind. He may have lost the most important part of his ability, but he could still sense even the slightest of injuries. Normally he hardly noticed the tiny scratches or bruises most people bore as a part of daily life, but it meant that he didn’t need to be able to see someone to know that they were there. He leant back to speak to the prince quietly.

"There's someone there." He nodded to a cluster of bushes. "At least one person... No, two at least."

The prince slowed his horse, and as he was currently leading their procession everyone behind them slowed too. He made a clicking sound with his tongue to draw Brayan’s attention and signalled to him.

"Arms!" Brayan shouted, and all at once the hiss of metal as swords were drawn could be heard.

Suddenly Dara was very much in the way. The prince had reined his horse around and was starting back towards the wagon when Dara heard the _thwick_ of an arrow being released. For a moment all Dara felt was the force of the arrow pushing him backwards as it pierced his chest, but searing pain quickly followed. Beneath the agony of his own injury Dara could feel where the arrow had breached the other side of him and cut into the prince shallowly.

The prince navigated his horse through the chaos of fighting men, and as the battle began Dara was deposited into the wagon. He immediately set about trying to dislodge the arrow from his chest. It couldn't be pulled back through whole, and Dara’s fingers only slipped on the blood slickened shaft as he tried to snap the end off. He could feel his body healing around it.

He did his best to push away the battle raging around him, to remove himself from it, but he felt every single injury. Initially it was just nauseating and disorientating, but at the first death Dara’s mind shut down. He curled into a ball, the arrow forgotten, and shook.

#

The moment the last bandit fell, Maric did a quick inventory of his men. A few minor cuts and bruises, and Raedon had a deep gash on his upper arm that would need to be tended, but none were at risk of death. The bandits had been counting on superior numbers and the element of surprise to overpower Maric's men, but Maric's men had better weapons and training by far and Dara’s warning had allowed them to raise their defenses in time. Maric estimated that there were about thirty dead bandits littering the road and set his men to clearing them immediately.

His duty done, Maric’s mind went back to Dara. Dara had his healing ability, but could he survive an arrow right through the chest? It hadn't been the left side, thankfully, as Maric was quite sure an arrow to the heart would be deadly even to Dara, but a lung full of arrow was still no laughing matter.

Dara lay on the floor of the wagon curled into a ball and shivering. He didn't respond to his name or to Maric's touch. There was blood, but not as much as Maric would have expected from the same wound on any other man. When he sliced away Dara's shirt he found that Dara's flesh was well on its way to healing around the arrow.

Maric had one of his men hold Dara while he broke the end of the arrow off and pulled it out, opening the wound anew. It bled sluggishly for a few seconds, and then slowed and stopped. He had to explain Dara's ability to his baffled men, but he couldn't explain why Dara was so unresponsive. Dara had inhaled sharply when the arrow had been pulled out, but that had been the extent of his response.

Maybe it just took a lot out of him to heal himself, Maric reasoned. It had been quite a serious wound. He really ought to have asked Dara more about his ability and the extent of it, but it hadn't seemed relevant. He had fully intended to keep Dara safe, and so it hadn't mattered. How arrogant of him to assume he could bend the rest of the world to his desires so easily. There was danger everywhere.

Maric rode in the wagon with Dara, stroking gentle fingers through his hair though he showed no sign of even being aware of the contact, and they stopped at the next inn they came across. As soon as a room was arranged Maric carried Dara, still shaking and catatonic, into it. He ordered a bath and washed both Dara and himself and cleaned and bandaged the small wound on his chest. It probably ought to have been stitched, but he couldn't bring himself to leave Dara to do it. At some point Dara had stopped shaking, but his eyes still stared vacantly ahead of him.

It was after dark before Dara showed the first sign of response, shuffling closer on the bed towards the heat of Maric's body. He sighed his approval when Maric wrapped an arm around him.

"You awake?" Maric asked. It wasn't quite the right question. Dara had always been awake, his eyes open and staring. He simply hadn't been aware.

"Mmn?" There was a slight pause, and then, "Oh. Yes."

"Do you remember what happened?"

He heard the sound of Dara swallowing thickly, and a slight tremble ran through Dara's body. "Yes. I do."

"You healed up fine within a few minutes, but you wouldn't respond. Does it take a lot of energy to heal yourself like that?"

Dara let out a humourless huff of laughter. "I've walked away from worse, believe me. This was more in the nature of my response to that whipping you took me to. It's been a long time since I've felt death like that."

He'd clearly been aiming for flippant, but Maric didn't miss the fear that tightened Dara’s throat as he spoke the last sentence.

"I hadn't thought of that," Maric admitted. "I don't know how your ability works."

"I feel pain like anyone else, but injuries heal rapidly. I can feel the injuries of others — that's how I knew there were men hiding in the bushes, as a couple of them had a few scrapes. Feeling people getting injured is extremely unpleasant, and death... Well, I suppose you've seen what that does to me now."

"I wish I had magic, even if it does sound like it's as much strife as benefit," Maric said.

"But then you'd be a slave instead of a prince, and it's unlikely you'd find that fun," Dara pointed out. He should have sounded bitter, but he didn't. He was just stating a fact.

Maric buried his hand in Dara's hair and gave his head a rub. "Things always sound better in theory, don't they?"

"Mmn." Dara shut his eyes, enjoying the sensation. "Do you want me to do something...?"

"Not tonight," Maric told him, and continued rubbing Dara's head because he seemed to like it. "Tonight, I think you just need to rest and relax."

#

Despite what the prince had said about Dara needing to rest, and despite Dara agreeing, he was still awake well after the prince had fallen asleep. He almost wished, now, that the prince hadn't released him from his obligation of sexual fulfilment for the night. But on the other hand... Well, he felt a lot better for it. It was good to know that the prince cared more for his well being than the pleasures he offered.

He hadn't felt quite so relaxed in a long time, in fact. A very long time. Not since... Well, he didn't want to think about that. But he was slowly coming to realise that he felt okay. That he felt safe.

The prince's injury was blipping at the edge of his mind, and he shifted his focus to it now. He'd never stopped feeling the injuries of others no matter how much he would have liked to, but it felt a little different now. There was a thread of potential linking Dara to the wound.

He rolled over in the prince's arms and slowly, carefully wedged his hand up underneath the bandage covering the prince's chest. The prince grunted annoyance in his sleep, but otherwise didn't stir. He seemed quite alert to the smallest of sounds or touches when he needed to be, but Dara had found the prince could sleep through just about anything that didn't demand his attention.

Dara’s hand was pressed against the wound, which wasn't ideal at all, but at least he could thoroughly feel the potential. Dara wasn't as completely broken as he'd thought. There was something hidden inside him, some small ember the prince had flamed, and now it was on the verge of growing into something he could use.

Over the years Dara had forgotten most of his lessons. It took him almost an hour to remember how to properly clear his mind, how to relax his body and control his breathing. At one time he'd been able to switch into healing mode with hardly a thought, but now the slightest shift from the prince kept pulling him out of it.

It got easier, though, the longer he worked at it, and eventually he was able to begin pushing his power outside of his body, into the prince's. It was just tiny amounts, barely effectual, but it added up. Little by little tissue was rebuilt until, just before dawn, the wound closed over and shortly after vanished as though it had never been there in the first place.

And... Dara had really not intended to do that. Not without telling, not without asking the prince first. He'd just needed to test it, and he'd feared any kind of involvement from anyone else would have destroyed the fragile progress he'd made.

He sat in the gentle glow of dawn and stared down at the prince, waiting for him to wake.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Maric wasn't sure what it meant that the first thing he noticed when he woke up was the lack of Dara's body against his. His squinted around, spotted Dara sitting at the end of the bed, and dragged him back over for a cuddle. Dara seemed tense, but Maric was too sleepy to worry about it. He was probably still upset about the thing with the bandits.

It was the itching of his bandage that eventually motivated proper wakefulness. During the night it had become twisted and bunched up, and with great effort Maric heaved himself up to change it.

Dara was watching Maric carefully as he unwrapped the bandage, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip.

"What?" Maric asked.

"Um," was all Dara said. Maric finished unwrapping the bandage and tossed it aside without taking his eyes from Dara. "Um," Dara repeated, but this time he nodded at Maric.

Maric looked at him in confusion for a moment, and then cast a curious look down at his wound in case that had something to do with Dara’s odd behaviour. Dara could sense injuries, after all.

But... there was no wound. There was a slight crusting of blood on his skin that proved it had existed, but there was nothing but pure, unmarked skin underneath. He stared at it in confused wonder for several moments before his mind started putting things together. He slowly raised his eyes to meet Dara's.

"You're a healer." It wasn't a question, it was a statement, because by now it was obvious. It should have been obvious all along, but Maric had been focussing on the wrong things. "You lied to me."

"I didn't _lie_ ," Dara insisted. "I just... omitted some things, and didn't correct you when you made incorrect assumptions."

"That's lying in effect and you know it," Maric growled. "You let me have you sit on the floor next to my chair, you let me train you to be a fucking bed slave!"

Dara flinched back. "I didn't think it mattered. I was broken, so it didn't matter what I used to be. I didn't think I'd ever be able to be what I was again. I'm sorry. I _am_. But this is better, isn't it, if I can be a healer? I can be so much more useful to you."

Maric shook his head, pure rage he couldn’t quite justify boiling beneath the surface of his skin.

"People will understand why you did what you did. You didn't know."

"That's not the fucking point!" Maric shouted, and this time Dara curled in on himself defensively as if he expected to be hit. Maric sighed. "Get out. I can't be around you right now."

Dara nodded hurriedly, his eyes wide, and headed for the door. He paused before exiting and said in a small voice, "Don't tell anyone yet, okay? It's still a fragile thing, and I don't know if I can get it all the way back."

And then he left, and Maric was alone.

Maric wanted to punch something, but he held himself back. Made himself sit still and pull his anger back in before he began to think things through. He couldn't assess why he was so angry until it was no longer ruling him.

He didn't care what people thought about him treating Dara as he had — at least not much — but it still bothered him a great deal that he’d done it. But why? He had simply treated Dara as any other slave would have been treated. Far better, really. Dara had certainly seemed happy enough with things.

If he’d known the truth, of course, Maric would have done things differently. He would have treated Dara differently. He probably never would have laid even the kindest of hands on him.

There was the old rule that you didn't fuck a healer because it risked damaging them, and healers were known to be fragile. Not physically — physically they were clearly amazingly resilient — but emotionally. And the first response of a healer to emotional distress was a loss of their abilities.

Most likely the sex had helped things. It had allowed them to get close and Dara to feel safe with him. The way Maric had thought of him, though... as a fun diversion, a novelty, something to be treated kindly but ultimately discarded when he became bored with it. He would have made sure Dara was properly cared for afterwards, of course, but that didn't excuse the fact that it had been a game to Maric.

And Dara had responded like any other slave. He had liked the attention. Maric had only ever met a few healers, and they had all been confident, proud things. No more than was their due, of course, but the contrast between them and Dara was dramatic. That was why Maric had ignored all the signs. In his eyes, someone couldn't possibly be so submissive and be a healer.

Could it be that healers, before they went through years of extensive training, weren’t that different in terms of demeanour from other slaves? Hundreds of years ago, before the war that had resulted in the enslavement of the Enth, had healers behaved differently? Had the Enth in general? How much of who a slave was came about through careful training?

Maric halted that line of thought before he could go any deeper. Things were how they were and there was no changing them. Wondering about what ifs wouldn’t help anybody.

As Maric’s anger faded, it began to be replaced with guilt. He had shouted at Dara. Was it really such a surprise that Dara hadn't wished to talk about his broken ability? It had been torn from him so cruelly, and along with its loss he had lost the respect and kindness it afforded him. And then Maric had come along and offered him a lesser respect and a lesser kindness and he'd accepted it gladly because it had been better than what he'd had. He deserved more than that, and it had nothing to do with his ability.

#

The moment the prince had started shouting at him, Dara had been set back once more on his path to recovery. If the prince didn't forgive him, didn't treat him with the same sort of personal kindness and care as he had been, Dara suspected he would go back to being as useless as he ever had been. More so, because the prince wouldn't be making use of him in other ways anymore.

What would have happened if he'd been honest from the start? Dara had no idea. He didn't suppose it mattered now. He'd made mistakes, but he couldn't quite confidently pick out where they were.

Would the prince still have brought Dara with him if he'd been nothing more than a bird with broken wings? Dara had no way of knowing, just as he didn't know what would happen now. Surely he wouldn't be cast aside now that he could potentially be of use, but would the prince still be willing to offer him what he needed? He wanted so badly to be that magnificent thing he once was, but whether he could ever recover to that level was still unknown.

Dara wandered along the dusty road, not quite knowing where he was going. He remembered how it had felt when he’d first lost his ability, after the horror had faded and he'd found himself broken. He'd felt empty and weak. Until then he had thought he was great, but afterwards he realised all he had ever been was a vessel for greatness. Decorative at best on his own.

Before long Dara made his way back to the wagon. It was ridiculous to think he'd be left behind after he'd just revealed his potential value, but Dara feared it all the same. The prince had been so angry. The last people he'd seen the prince angry at had been publicly whipped. It seemed unlikely he'd have something like that done to Dara, but it was impossible not to fear the wrath of such a powerful man.

When the prince's men asked Dara what was taking the prince so long, Dara claimed he didn't know. It was an obvious lie, of course. Everyone knew by now how much the prince enjoyed keeping Dara close, so that he was out here on his own alone was a sign that something was wrong.

It was about an hour after they were supposed to have left before the prince emerged from the inn, the look he gave his men clearly instructing them not to ask questions. He glanced at Dara, but his unreadable gaze didn't linger. Dara was left alone with his worries as the day's travel began.

#

Maric had been born and raised a leader, was used to being the one telling others what to do, so he had never quite known what to do when he was the one requiring direction. This was most certainly not a situation he'd ever been trained for. It was the greatest irony that the feeling of helplessness he was presently drowning in made him want to do nothing more than sink into Dara's arms for comfort. That wasn't an option, though, because Dara could no longer play the role of amusing diversion.

Eventually it was Brayan who Maric confided in while they rode side by side out of earshot of the other men. The faces Brayan made while Maric told his story were hardly reassuring.

"Well," Brayan said when Maric was done, "that is quite a mess."

"Yes, thank you. I'm aware."

"We could use a healer," Brayan pointed out.

"Of course we could. I'm just not sure what to do with him now."

Brayan shrugged. "What you were doing seemed to be effective.”

Maric sighed. "I can hardly continue treating him like a whore, Brayan."

"It doesn't sound like you were, for the most part."

Maric pressed his lips together and furrowed his brow in consideration. "Well, I can't have him kneeling on the floor for formal occasions. I can't treat him as though his greatest purpose takes place beneath my sheets."

"Well clearly there are some things that must change," Brayan agreed. "He was always more to you than an average conquest. That much was clear from the start. Give him the respect of acknowledging that. Let him use your name, give him a seat next to you at formal occasions. Find what makes him happy, makes him feel safe, and do that. It really isn't so hard."

Maric gave Brayan a smile. "Thank you. Clearly I needed the help of someone with more sense than I."

Brayan returned the smile without comment. He was wise enough not to agree.

#

By the time they reached their destination, the city of Givanon, the sun was already setting and Dara was just starting to wake up. He had spent most of the day sleeping after he’d been awake all night pushing his struggling ability to its limits to heal the prince.

Dara stayed in the wagon as activity blossomed around him, the prince's men gathering those of their belongings they would need for the night and servants taking horses. Part of him wished he would simply be forgotten. Things would be easier that way.

It was Brayan who eventually came to get him and led him inside the palace, up a grand staircase, and into a room. The splendor of the room clearly showed it was intended for the prince, not Dara.

"I'm not sure his highness wants me with him tonight, sir," Dara said, his eyes on the ground, before Brayan could leave.

"I brought you here at his orders," Brayan said, his voice surprisingly clear of anger or condescension. "There will be a party tonight. I suggest you start getting ready."

"Yes, sir."

"I also suggest you start looking me in the eye when I speak to you. Your behaviour is hardly befitting a healer."

Dara winced, but he raised his eyes to meet Brayan’s. "I asked him not to tell anyone yet."

"You can't look me in the eye, but you think you can tell a prince what to do?" Brayan smiled and shook his head. "He asked me not to tell anyone else. Even a prince needs someone to confide in."

Dara nodded, and then forced himself to raise his eyes to meet Brayan’s again when he noticed them dropping.

"I'll have a bath sent up," Brayan said before turning and leaving.

Dara sighed and sat down on the bed, leaning his back against the wall. He had forgotten how complicated being of value could be.

A bath was brought up a short while later and Dara quickly washed and changed into his clean uniform. After that, he had nothing to do but sit on the bed and wait for the prince.

#

While normally he would dismiss himself to spend private time with Dara as soon as possible, today Maric was stalling. Despite a full day's riding to spend in thought and the conversation he’d had with Brayan, he still wasn't sure how to handle things with Dara. How could he be, when it had turned out he didn't know Dara very well at all?

Eventually even Lord Nolen, the dull man who ran the palace, insisted Maric go to get ready for the party. It was unreasonable how tense Maric felt as he headed up the stairs to his room.

When Maric opened the door to find Dara sitting on his bed, it was almost startling to realise that Dara wasn't suddenly a different person. With all he'd hidden, Maric had expected to find someone unrecognisable hidden beneath Dara's outer shell.

Dara glanced up when Maric entered, but quickly dropped his gaze back to the ground. "Your highness."

"Maric," Maric said, remembering Brayan's advice. "You will use my name when you address me."

Dara hesitated a moment before nodding his head.

Maric took a step closer. "You won't lie to me again, not by omission or by failing to correct my assumptions. Do you understand?"

Dara nodded again, shoulders tense and eyes firmly on the ground. He was afraid, Maric realised. Afraid of him.

Anger rose up in Maric's chest, burning hot and with no particular target. He couldn't order fear away, though, and he certainly couldn't drown it out with his rage. He forced himself to calm down as he approached Dara.

Even so, when Dara flinched away from the hand Maric reached out, Maric's reflexive response was to growl, " _Don't_."

Dara freezing stiff and rigid was not an improvement. Maric smoothed a hand over Dara's hair. He'd comforted Dara once before. How had he done it?

He sat down next to Dara, pulled him into his arms, held onto him, and stroked a hand over his back. It was several minutes before Dara started to relax.

"We have both made mistakes," Maric said when Dara no longer showed signs of fear. "I am willing to excuse yours if you don't repeat them in the future."

There was a long stretch of silence before Dara said, "I'm not sure what your mistakes were."

Maric gave a thoughtful hum. He had been avoiding thinking about what might have been wrong about his actions, but he could feel the jagged edges of it scraping against the back of his mind. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you,” he decided on eventually. “All it achieved was to make you afraid of me and risk setting back your recovery. From now on, I’ll do my best to control my temper better and give you the respect that befits your true status.”

"My powers might never properly come back," Dara said. "The cut on you was only small, and it took me hours to heal."

"How transient status is for you," Maric said as he hugged Dara against his chest. "Is that what they told you, when they were trying to recover your abilities? That all would be lost if you were unable to? Even I know fear is a terrible remedy for a healer. You have clearly shown that all is never truly lost, and so I am restoring your status without condition."

Maric had expected Dara to be overjoyed, but it was several long moments before he responded. "I don't want what we have going to stop. I believe it's vital to my recovery."

"Not stop," Maric agreed as his hand trailed down Dara's stomach. "But change. You are not, nor will you ever be, a bed slave."

"I would have been a terrible bed slave," Dara murmured against Maric's arm as he shifted to allow Maric better access.

Maric's hand came to rest on Dara's crotch and he stroked a thumb across the growing bulge he found there. "Hardly something to find shame in. I wouldn't make a very good one either."

Dara buried a laugh in Maric's arm.

Maric's hand wrapped around Dara's erection as well as it could through the restricting cloth pinning it down. "What?"

"Well — _mmh_ — you seem to do a fine job of servicing my needs in bed. But I suppose you might rebel if given orders."

Maric's hand rubbed up and down, feeling the hardness and heat of Dara through his uniform pants. "If we called them instructions I might not object. Would power dampen your fear?"

"You seem to have better ideas than I ever could," Dara said, his hips reflexively bucking up in search of greater stimulation. "What do I know but what my own hand can offer?"

"Very well. Here, sit up. On my lap, facing me. Good." Maric picked at the buttons on Dara’s pants one handed, deliberately pressing his knuckles against the erection straining against them as he worked to free it. His other hand pushed up under Dara’s shirt to stroke the soft, hairless skin that covered his chest. Dara’s thighs clenched, and he pressed forward against the hand slowly working open the buttons on his pants, a whimper escaping his throat as he desperately sought out further contact.

A knock on the door stilled Maric's movements, and Maric scowled in its direction. "What?"

"Clean bathwater, highness," a female voice said through the door.

"Fine, come in," Maric said as he turned back to Dara. As the slave entered and emptied a bucket of steaming hot water into the metal tub in the corner of the room, Maric returned his attention to Dara's buttons.

"Eyes on me," Maric instruction when Dara's attention began wandering to the woman.

"Sorry," Dara murmured as his gaze snapped back to Maric. He ducked his face to Maric’s shoulder and curved his body in closer, but the tension in him was of a different nature now, alert rather than restrained.

"You are sharing a prince's bed," Maric said as he released Dara's member from the constraints of his pants, finding him still fiercely aroused. "You will need to learn to ignore certain distractions."

Dara nodded and murmured his compliance, his forehead pressed against Maric’s shoulder and his hands gripping tight against Maric’s shirt. His only response when Maric gripped his shaft was a sharp exhale that tickled across Maric’s neck.

When the woman left Dara lifted his head, and after a moment Maric felt lips soft against his neck. When he moved his hand slowly on Dara’s member, Dara let out a gasp and his hips jerked up to meet him.

More than ever, Maric wished he could simply strip them both naked and penetrate Dara. In his imaginings, of course, Dara was nothing but ecstatic, rocking up and down on Maric's lap with his eyes squeezed shut and his lip caught between his teeth, a flush creeping across his cheeks...

The door opened again, admitting the woman and a slave boy, each carrying buckets of hot water. The sounds Dara had been making stopped and his body stilled as he leant in against Maric to cover himself.

Maric sighed and, as soon as the slaves were done emptying their buckets, pointed to the door. "Shut it behind you. Wait ten minutes before returning."

Maric waited until the door clicked shut behind the slaves before flopping back on the bed and pulling Dara down on top of him. He pressed down on Dara’s ass as he thrust up, creating friction between them where they both needed it.

"These clothes are clean," Dara reminded him, his words half gasp as his eyes flickered shut.

"Better take them off, then. And mine, too, I think. No sense keeping them on when I'm about to take a bath, hm?"

They had to pause in their affections entirely halfway through getting Dara's clothes off or the effort would have been wasted and his uniform no longer clean. Maric's clothes didn't quite manage to escape that fate.

If they'd had more time Maric might have waited for Dara to come down from his orgasm enough to lend him a hand, but they were already running late for the party. He worked himself quickly and efficiently, his eyes not leaving Dara's sex flushed face even as he spilled his seed on the bedsheets.

By the time the slaves returned, Dara had thoroughly hidden his beautiful body beneath blankets. Maric couldn't say he understood Dara's desire for modesty. Hadn't he shared a room in the barracks with several other slaves? There must have been nudity there at the very least.

Maric certainly wasn't one for modesty. There had been times at war when he'd brought Brayan into his bed in a room shared with a dozen other men and he’d gotten used to others taking care of their needs just as publicly.

Maric nuzzled at Dara's neck, his body naked and bared as it lay over the blankets that concealed Dara. "You should be proud to lay with a prince, love."

"It's not a matter of pride," Dara murmured, but when Maric raised expectant eyebrows at him he didn't elaborate. He sat, tense and hidden, until the slaves were gone and Maric was finally able to lure him out and into the large metal tub.

It was a pity there was too little time to wash Dara tenderly and slowly, to soak together until the water went cold. Instead they both cleaned themselves up quickly before dressing and heading downstairs to join the party.

 


	5. Chapter 5

The feeling of discomfort evoked by having others witness what usually stayed private between Dara and the prince — Dara and _Maric_ — was beginning to fade as they joined the rest of the guests. Maric had taken the intrusion with such ease, completely unconcerned with the presence of the other slaves until he’d realised it was disrupting Dara's enjoyment. Was it that Maric saw them as furniture, or had military life simply destroyed any sense of modesty he may have once had?

Whatever the case, Dara couldn't summon the same indifference. Having an audience like that... it had made him feel vulnerable, dirty. Not that he found shame in what he did with Maric — not at all — but when they were alone he could imagine it was a special thing between the two of them. Being on display like that presented an uglier truth.

He couldn't dwell for long, though. Not with the distracting press of party guests all around them, many of them keen to get a word in with Maric. Part of Dara wanted to run off and hide, but most of him was happy under the shelter of Maric's arm. Even so, it was a relief when Maric excused himself and led Dara to the long dinner table.

"No," Maric said when Dara went to kneel on the floor next to his chair. Maric tapped the back of the chair next to his. "You sit at the table now."

Dara chewed his lip. "But... nobody knows."

Maric's eyebrows quirked up a fraction. "I do, and I don't see that anyone else matters."

Dara couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips as he sat down in the chair. Maric made it so easy to forget that he stood not only above Dara, but also above every single other person in the country with the exception of his father, the king.

The sound of someone clearing their throat drew both their attentions to a middle aged man standing behind them with his arms folded firmly across his chest. "Is there a reason there's a slave seated at my table?"

"I think you'll find it's my table," Maric said as he turned his back to the man. From his words and the amount of gold on his ostentatious coat, Dara could only assume the man was Lord Nolen.

Lord Nolen sat down next to Maric, pulling a male slave no more than eighteen down to kneel next to him with a rough yank of his arm. He was a pretty thing, his dark hair long and loose down his back. The dark hair and pale skin of the man who came to stand two steps behind Lord Nolen betrayed him as a slave too, but he was tall and broad shouldered, possessing none of the delicate beauty of the kneeling slave.

"I had hoped you had grown out of your rebellious stage,” Lord Nolen said once they were all settled. “Is there a reason there is a slave seated at _your_ table?"

"Yes."

"And what is that reason?"

Maric shrugged and reached out a hand to stroke Dara's hair. "That reason is none of your concern."

They continued to bicker, but Dara's attention was drawn away by the slave kneeling on the floor. He was modestly dressed given his obvious purpose, only his hands and head uncovered, but Dara suspected it was simply to hide the bruises and cuts that his clothing concealed. Injuring a slave for any reason — for _no_ reason — was perfectly legal, but certain behaviours were unbefitting a respectable man no matter who the victim was.

"If you find the slave of more interest than me, perhaps we should borrow him for the night," Maric said in a hushed tone near Dara's ear. It was a reprimand, not an offer.

Dara shook his head in an attempt to clear away the trance the feeling of the injuries had drawn him into. "Sorry. He has injuries hidden beneath his clothes. It bothers me."

Maric frowned, and Dara was surprised to see he was troubled too. "Injuries of what kind?"

"Bruises. Cuts. Old and new. He has been beaten recently." Dara couldn't help the shudder that ran down his spine. "The pattern of the injuries suggests someone took their time, got creative. Punishments are quick and efficient. This was done for pleasure."

Maric gave a sharp nod before turning his attention back to Lord Nolen. "Who hurt your slave?"

Lord Nolen let out a startled laugh. "Excuse me? Didn't we just have a discussion about how a slave is the business of no one but his master?"

"No, we had a discussion about how I'm in charge here and what that implies." Maric's gaze shifted to the slave on the floor. "Take off your shirt."

The slave hesitated, nervous eyes seeking out his master's face.

Maric clapped his hands together sharply, making the slave jump. "Don't make me tell you twice."

Dara's heart went out to the boy as he hurried to comply. His body, all that had been done to him, was put on display. Slaves were trained to accept the shame of such things as their own.

" _Why_?" was all Maric could ask as his eyes grazed the assortment of injuries that covered the boy's body, his voice hard and cold. It must have taken some careful savagery to contain the many cuts and bruises, both fresh and fading, to only places on the boy’s body which could be covered.

Lord Nolen rolled the stem of his glass between his fingertips, a move too casual in the face of Maric's anger to reveal anything but anxiety. "Does it matter?"

It was only when Maric's eyes cut to Dara that Dara realised how Lord Nolen's words had echoed what the guard had said on the night Maric had rescued him. _Does it matter, sir?_

"Yes," Maric said, his voice cold and threatening. "It concerns me deeply that I have a sadist running my city."

The smile Lord Nolen gave Maric was tight lipped. "This is an important issue to you. I see that. Perhaps we could discuss it in privacy later? This is hardly the place for such drama."

"Fine."

Dara tapped a finger on Maric's shoulder. Once he had Maric's attention, he gestured to the slave. "May he put his shirt back on? He's uncomfortable."

Maric nodded and cast a look in the slave's direction. "Get dressed."

This time, the slave hurried to comply without hesitation.

Dara tried to focus on the dinner, but the other slave’s wounds were too much of a distraction. He could feel them as though they were his own, each point a sinking hole of wrongness he wanted nothing more than to fix. He ate only when Maric explicitly instructed him to, each mouthful of food settling nauseating and heavy in his stomach.

It was a relief when Maric finally finished his food and excused himself. He took hold of Dara's wrist and led him back to their room.

As Maric shut the door, Dara flopped down onto the bed. "Well."

Maric sat down beside him and ran a hand down his back. "War was more fun than this. And usually less brutal."

Dara arched against Maric’s touch, but it was comfort he sought from the contact. Reassurance that he was here, safe and cared for. He had escaped torment, but that boy and so many others were still living with it as part of their daily lives. There was nobody to save them as Maric had saved him. That boy would likely suffer until one day his master went too far and killed him.

Maric began untucking Dara's shirt, his touch deft and gentle against Danya’s skin. "I can make laws against what he did. Not everywhere, but here." Maric leant down to nip at Dara's neck. "This city is mine, not my father's. I can make whatever laws I wish. I can do whatever I wish."

Dara sat up to allow Maric to unbutton his shirt. "Of course. It is your due."

Maric's lips quirked up into a smile. "What would you do if you were a prince?"

Dara was silent for a stretch as his mind whirred through all the changes he would like to see in the world. No more innocents suffering, no more brutal people in power. If he were a violent man he might have wanted to burn the world and all its injustices to the ground, but what he really desired was the power to cleanse it. "Many things."

Maric slipped Dara's shirt off his shoulders and then started on the buttons of Dara’s pants. "Do you think I'm doing a bad job of it, then?"

Dara couldn't read Maric’s tone, wasn't sure how close he was to getting in trouble. "No," he said carefully. "We simply all serve our own interests. As a leader you serve yours, and as a leader I would serve my own. How good of a job you're doing is only determined by how successful you are at achieving your goals, isn't it?"

"What a little diplomat you are." Maric tugged Dara's pants off and found him already halfway hard. He reached a hand out and began slowly, gently stroking him. "And my father? Do you think he's doing a good job?"

" _Mmh_. He's the king."

There was no amusement in Maric's laugh. "Yes, I'm aware."

Suddenly Dara felt vulnerable. Maric had never hurt him before, had always been kind to him. It was easy to forget that he could be a very dangerous man.

"He is the king," Dara said carefully. "The things he does are right by default."

"He fucks little boys," Maric said flatly.

Dara had shoved Maric's hand away before he even realised what he was doing. He didn't want to be naked anymore, not when...

He'd only met the king once, when he was eight and his abilities had first begun to develop. He remembered the way the king had looked at him, meaningful in a way Dara hadn't been able to grasp at the time. _Well aren't you a pretty thing_ , as a hand had grazed his cheek. He remembered the dead eyed slave boy no older than himself sitting at the king's feet.

And then the king had declared Dara would be a surprise gift for his son on his son’s eighteenth birthday, had arranged clothes in Maric's colours and sent him away from the palace for training. Dara hadn't known why he'd felt such a sense of relief at the time.

Maric withdrew from Dara and pillowed his head on his hands. "But of course he is the king, and as the king he can only do right. Clearly you're much too old for me."

Dara forced his breathing to calm and pulled the blanket up to cover his body. He was no longer in the least bit aroused. "You disagree with his... choices."

"Why do you think I left the moment I could and returned as rarely as possible?" Maric asked. "He's never hurt me, nor any free man not guilty of a crime so far as I'm aware, but the things he..." Maric let out a sigh and rolled his head from side to side. "I think I prefer when I can pretend I'm nothing more than a soldier. We kill people, but we do it cleanly and with respect. We don't get off on it."

"May I put my clothes back on now?"

A grin broke through Maric's gloom as he rolled over to lay along Dara’s side, one arm braced over Dara in a way that wasn’t quite restraining enough to feel threatening. "After I went to all that trouble to take them off? You would waste my labour?"

Dara wouldn't have said he was exactly in the mood, but when Maric brushed his knuckles against Dara’s cheek, Dara found himself pressing into the contact. Maric leant forward and the gentle way he pressed their lips together was exactly what Dara had needed. Something shared, not taken.

Maric's hands had just begun to roam down Dara's body when a knock on the door interrupted their affections. Maric turned to scowl at the door as Dara pulled the blanket back up to cover his body.

"What?" Maric asked the door.

"Lord Nolen would like to see you now, highness," a male voice said through the door.

Maric's scowl deepened. "Lord Nolen can go fuck himself."

Dara fought back a laugh. Amusement probably wasn't the appropriate response to Maric's ire.

"Lord Nolen sends his apologies for the disruption," the voice said, "but there are things the two of you need to discuss and it would be best to do that tonight unless you wish to change your plans to leave early tomorrow morning."

" _Fine_ ," Maric said, but he had a smile for Dara when he turned back around. He pulled down the blanket and placed a kiss on Dara's bare stomach. "When I get back."

As soon as Maric left, Dara set about putting his clothes back on. Being naked when he was alone... it made him feel vulnerable. It was ridiculous, really. Maric had locked the door behind himself and was unlikely to dally with Lord Nolen longer than necessary, but even so. Past experiences of extended nudity had not been pleasant for him.

He regretted going to the trouble when, as soon as he had his uniform back on, he heard a key in the lock. Surely Maric hadn't had time enough even to visit Lord Nolen and then return after delivering nothing more than the simple vulgar message he'd given the man at the door. Had he changed his mind about facing Lord Nolen tonight?

It wasn't Maric who opened the door, though.

For a moment Dara didn't recognise the slave standing before him. Not until the slave was inside the room with the door shut behind him. He was Lord Nolen's slave. Not the svelte bed slave who had distracted Dara from the meal, but the tall, broad shouldered slave who had stood behind Lord Nolen, still and silent as a statue.

There was nothing statuesque about him now, though. Not with the grin he wore. Hungry, deadly. Dara eyed the knife on the slave's belt as he shuffled off the bed. He felt less vulnerable standing.

"What's wrong, little fucktoy?" the slave asked. "Master away?"

Dara had thought all the pride trained into him when he was still useful had died, but the feeling of outrage that rose up in him showed there were still sparks of it left. He pressed his back against the wall, keeping as much distance between the two of them as possible.

The slave stroked the hilt of his knife but didn't draw it. "He wanted me to fuck you bloody, but I convinced him that lingering too long and leaving evidence you didn't off yourself wasn't worth it. Truth is, I just don't want to dirty myself with your whore prince's leftovers."

Dara swallowed thickly as his mind whipped through the possibilities. If the slave used the knife, it would be obvious someone else had been responsible. What really mattered was that this man didn't know he was a healer. There was a decent possibility that Dara would survive, that he would be able to pass any information he discovered on to Maric. "He... Lord Nolen?"

The slave's grin broadened, and as he spoke he slowly approached. "He hates you almost as much as he hates your master. Thinks you might be responsible for further softening an already weak heir. You will pay, and your unworthy master will learn that it's better for everyone to keep slaves in their places."

It was likely Lord Nolen wouldn't have arranged Dara's murder if he'd known Dara was a healer, then. Of course, by now it was too late for that little fact to save him. It would only assure thoroughness. The slave had already revealed his intent.

Dara wasn't a very good fighter — quite the opposite — but he had quite a bit of experience with kicking up a fuss. He only got half a scream out before a hand clamped down over his mouth. He doubted anyone would have heard him through the stone walls and heavy wooden door anyway.

The slave was no larger than the guards who had for so long tormented Dara, so it came as a surprise how much stronger than them he was. There was no breaking his grip, and the dullness of the echo of pain when Dara struck out told him the slave barely felt his retaliation. It seemed Dara wasn't the only one here with magic.

It wasn't until Dara was on the window's ledge that he understood what was about to happen. He almost smiled, almost laughed, though he knew how much pain was coming. He'd thrown himself from twice as high before and survived.

He squeezed his eyes shut as one final shove sent him falling into empty air.

#

"Wine?" Lord Nolen offered. He was sitting comfortably in an armchair while Maric paced irritably in front of him. There was a thump from the adjoining room and Lord Nolen shot it a look of irritation.

By rights this suite, the largest in the palace, ought to have belonged to Maric, but since he was there so infrequently he had been happy to settle for a single room. Now he wanted to claim these rooms out of spite. He gave Lord Nolen an acidic look. "I am not here to socialise. I am here to discuss your behaviour and decide whether you are the appropriate person to be filling such a prestigious role."

Lord Nolen shrugged, but his shoulders were tense. When another thump came from the room he glared at the door as though he could intimidate the wood. "Have I not performed my role well? Call me a sadist if you want, but whatever my flaws may be they do not extend out of my private life. Are you attempting to start some kind of ideological war? To force people to abide by your personal morals by penalising them if they don't?"

If Maric had been holding something, he would have thrown it at Lord Nolen then. "This is my city! Not my father's and most certainly not _yours_! I don't need to play games to make changes. I control the law, and you can damn well expect I will be altering it!" _Thump_. "And what is that blasted noise?"

Lord Nolen steepled his hands on his lap. "Bug had to be punished. It seems he is seeking further discipline, but he shall have to wait until after you leave."

"Oh for..." Maric sighed and shook his head as he stomped to the door. What he found in that room, he decided, would determine whether or not Lord Nolen kept his job.

"Those are my private quarters," Lord Nolen said as he stood. "You do not have my permission to—"

"I do not _need_ your permission to do anything," Maric said as he pulled open the door.

For a moment the only thing Maric saw of note in the otherwise normal sleeping quarters were hand restraints on the bed. He made a face as he imagined the delicate slave who had sat at Lord Nolen's feet at dinner in them. The thud came again and Maric's attention was drawn to a large chest at the end of the bed.

Maric knelt before it and examined the lock. He spoke without turning around. "Open it."

"I will not—"

"You _will_ , or I will kill you now and take the key from your body." Maric turned to look up at Lord Nolen. "You've been spending too much time around aristocrats. You forget what military men are capable of."

Lord Nolen let out an annoyed sigh before digging through his pocket and tossing Maric the key to the chest. The thuds from inside had increased in urgency as Maric unlocked it.

The slave inside, the one from dinner — Bug? — was tied up, but the ropes binding his legs had come loose, allowing him to kick the end of the chest. Maric hauled him upright and carefully unknotted the rope holding the gag shoved into his mouth in place.

For a moment Bug gasped and coughed, but as soon as he had himself under control he croaked, " _Your slave_."

It could have meant many things, nothing at all, but the mention of Dara in a voice so desperate and broken sent chills down Maric's spine. Maric ignored Lord Nolen's shouts as fled back to his room.

Maric had left the door to the room he shared with Dara locked, but when he tried the handle it turned easily. Someone had been there since he'd left. He half expected to find Dara bleeding on the floor when he opened the door, or perhaps still in the process of being hurt. The empty room he found instead was far more terrifying. Dara had been taken.

Maric checked under the bed, checked the large wardrobe, and by the time he was absolutely certain Dara was not in the room, Lord Nolen had arrived.

"If you are responsible for this—" Maric started, but Lord Nolen interrupted him.

"I was with you the entire time. Perhaps he simply wandered off?"

"I locked the door when I left. It is now unlocked. Somebody came in here and—" The sound of a woman screaming outside cut Maric off.

Maric already knew what he'd see when he rushed to the window, but the sight of Dara's body laying twisted on the ground far below still made his stomach clench. Could Dara have survived such a fall?

Lord Nolen's eyebrows twitched up when Maric turned to him. "He jumped? I'm hardly surprised when you've elevated him to a position he's unsuited for. If you—"

Maric shoved past Lord Nolen as he ran from the room. He wanted to beat the hell out of Lord Nolen whether or not he was responsible, but he wanted to get to Dara more. He sprinted down the servant's corridor, the quickest way outside.

By the time Maric got outside the woman, middle aged and dressed in the manner of a palace maid, had stopped screaming and was crouched down next to Dara. She quickly backed away when she noticed Maric's approach.

Dara looked... Maric took a sharp breath in. Not good. His eyes were open and he was breathing, but he didn't respond when Maric said his name. There was blood — a great deal of blood — and one of Dara's arms was twisted at an unnatural angle. A gash ran down the side of Dara's head, but it was impossible to tell in the dark whether or not his skull was intact. He was alive, though, Maric reminded himself. Could he heal himself from this before the injuries killed him?

Maric turned to the woman who was standing back, twisting her hands nervously in her apron. "Fetch a blanket large enough to carry him in. A clean one. And... do you know what the captain of my guard looks like? Brayan, the one with silver threading on his uniform."

The woman was nodding, though Maric wasn't sure if it was in confirmation or simply the only response she was presently capable of.

"Find him for me," Maric continued. "He should still be in the ballroom chasing down dance partners. Tell him to send the rest of the men up to arm themselves and then come to me immediately. Understand?"

The woman looked uncertain for only a moment before nodding confidently. "Yes, highness."

"Good. Go."

Each breath Dara took was ragged, fought for. If he hadn’t been a healer, Maric would have written off any chance of his survival. Maric had seen many men die, some he had been quite close to, and yet crouching there, watching Dara struggling against death... He tried to tell himself it was because Dara was a healer, because he was so valuable, but it didn't stick. Maric's feelings hadn't changed as much as they ought to have after that particular revelation.

Maric heard footsteps and looked up. Lord Nolen. For a moment Maric had forgotten about him. Lord Nolen would have done better to leave it that way.

"Did you do this?" Maric asked, voice low and dangerous.

"Must we go over this again? I was with you the entire time."

"And where was that slave you sent to fetch me? You don't have to strike with your own hand to be a killer."

"I don't see why you're getting so worked up." Lord Nolen held out a hand. "Come on, someone else will clean this up. Come inside."

"He's not dead."

"Then he's suffering, and if you care for him you should finish things off. Those aren't survivable injuries and you know it."

A servant boy came running up with a blanket bundled in his arms, and Maric ignored Lord Nolen in favour of taking it. Getting Dara onto it without hurting him further, though... that would be the difficulty.

"My goodness, you are ridiculously sentimental," Lord Nolen said. "I thought military men were supposed to be sensible and efficient. Would you prefer to watch him drown in his own blood than give him a quick end?"

"Afraid of what he might say?" Maric asked without looking up from the dilemma of Dara's broken body. This would be a two man job, he decided, and he would certainly not be allowing Lord Nolen to assist him.

"Oh for... He's clearly not in any state for conversation."

"I just think it odd that a torture hobbyist would be so insistent on mercy."

Lord Nolen let out a sigh and threw his hands up in a dramatic show of frustration. "Fine. Let us sit and wait while he bleeds out, then, shall we?"

When Maric heard the sound of boots hitting gravel and looked up to see Brayan running towards them, he let out a groan of relief. He would have to make sure that servant was rewarded for her efficient work.

Brayan swore as soon as he was close enough to see Dara as well as the dim light allowed. "What happened?"

Maric worked on getting the blanket laid out next to Dara so that they could lift him onto it. "Someone pushed him out of the window."

"Oh come on, I hardly think that's a fair assumption," Lord Nolen interrupted. "It's far more likely he jumped."

"I locked the door when I left, and it was unlocked when I returned," Maric said. "That's just sloppy."

"Yes, a conspiracy is far more likely than you simply forgetting to lock the door."

Others had emerged from the palace now and were watching from a safe distance, but they were slaves and servants, trained to be unobtrusive. Maric hardly noticed them. With Brayan's help, he managed to get Dara onto the blanket. Dara cried out and twisted away when they picked him up, but nothing fell out. He was still in one piece.

"Think he's going to be all right?" Brayan asked as they got Dara as comfortable on the blanket as they were able given his condition.

"Of course he's not going to be fucking all right!" Lord Nolen shouted. " _Look_ at him!"

"Ah, here come my boys," Brayan said, and Maric looked up to see Mathers and Raedan heading towards them, armoured and armed. Good. Now things could get moving.

Maric stood and greeted his men with a nod. "Please arrest Lord Nolen under suspicion of attempted murder of a healer."

" _What_?" Lord Nolen spat out.

"Dara," Maric said. "He's a healer. It's quite likely that he won't die and that he will be able to tell us what really happened."

Lord Nolen didn't take his eyes off of Maric even as his arms were yanked behind his back. "As I already said, I was with you. You cannot prove other involvement and whatever he tells you is meaningless because a slave's word is not considered permissible evidence in court. All that aside, I cannot be charged for attempting to murder a healer when I was not aware he was one!"

Maric stood up and took a step towards Lord Nolen. The few inches of height he had on the man allowed him to look down on him. "Remember how adamant you were about your rights to do whatever you wished to your property? Well, this city and all of its inhabitants belong to me. By legal right, I can do whatever I wish here. I could have you killed excruciatingly slowly and painfully simply because I do not like you, but instead whether you live or die will be determined by whether or not I believe you had anything to do with hurting Dara." Maric nodded to Mathers. "Lock him up and keep a guard on the door."

Anything Lord Nolen shouted as he was dragged away was ignored in favour of soothing Dara. Or trying to, anyway. If Dara was aware of anything but pain, Maric couldn't tell.

Brayan took one end of the blanket and Maric took the other, and together they carried Dara back inside. Maric spotted the servant who had helped him earlier clearing people out of the way for them, and he gestured with his head for her to follow.

There was no way not to jar Dara further going up the stairs. Maric had seen so many injured people in his time, but most of them had been either soldiers or those he hardly knew. Dara hadn't signed up for this. He'd gone with Maric to _avoid_ being hurt.

As soon as they had Dara settled as comfortably as possible on the bed, Maric turned to the helpful servant. "I'll need more lanterns in here. And a tub of water, warm, and a washcloth."

"Yes, highness," she said before dashing off to complete his requests.

Maric let out a tired sigh and turned back to Brayan. "I want any slaves owned by Lord Nolen arrested. Oh, except the little bed slave. Bug, I think his name was. Last I saw he was tied up in a chest in Lord Nolen's sleeping chambers. Bring him here."

"Lovely," Brayan murmured.

"Mm. I want the palace on lockdown. No one enters or leaves until this is sorted out. If anyone challenges your authority, arrest them. Understood?"

Brayan nodded. "Yes, sir."

Maric couldn't help a smile. He would always be Brayan's commanding officer or his friend, not his prince. "Go."

The smile dropped off Maric's face when he turned back to Dara. How did you help an injured healer? Maric knelt down next to the bed and examined Dara. All bleeding had more or less stopped, at least externally. Who knew what was happening inside Dara's body, what damage had been done.

Dara had several broken ribs, and if the sound of his breathing was any indication, at least one punctured lung. His arm was also badly broken. Should that be splinted? Maric wasn't sure if it was better to treat his injuries as best they could or leave him alone entirely. These were things Maric should have researched, should have asked Dara about, should have known before he needed the information.

Lanterns were brought in and set up, and a few minutes later someone brought the requested tub of water. When he needed help cutting Dara's clothes off, the same servant was there to assist him.

"What's your name?" Maric asked.

"Neala, highness."

"Neala," Maric said, committing the name to memory. "You have done good work tonight and will be rewarded for your loyalty to the crown."

"It is simply my duty, highness," she murmured, clearly uncomfortable with the praise.

"Yes, well, there seems to be a lack of people fulfilling that particular duty tonight. Apparently it's not something I can count on here."

The door opened again, and Maric looked up to see Brayan leading Bug into the room with a firm hand on his shoulder. The slave looked terrified, and when his eyes landed on Dara his face crumpled and one hand came up to cover his mouth. "I'm sorry, highness, I'm sorry. I was too late, I—"

Maric held up a hand to stop him. "You did what you could to save him and risked a great deal in the process. You are to be commended for that. Can you confirm that your master was responsible for this?"

Bug chewed at his lip. "I'm an empath. I didn't hear him planning or anything, I didn't witness anything that could be called proof, but I... I felt his intention. I knew he was going to do _something_ to hurt you, to hurt your slave. I'm sorry, there was nothing I could do, I just—"

"Shh. Help me wash him."

As Bug helped, he cried. Quiet and hurt and tired, the kind of exhausted tears that couldn't be stopped. An empath. Maric wondered how much of the pain Bug was feeling was his own.

"He's a healer," Maric explained when he realised word likely hadn't spread far enough to reach Bug yet. "I suspect he will survive."

The extra emotion brought on by the reassurance only made Bug cry harder. In many ways, Maric suspected he was just as broken as Dara right now.

Neala brought them water without being asked, and Maric couldn't help but like her more when she took the time to make sure Bug drank. Many would have disregarded the slave entirely. Perhaps, at times, Maric would have too. After seeing how much Bug had been hurt, though, indifference was impossible.

There were many things that had become harder to ignore recently, most of them thanks to Dara. Having something in life didn't mean you deserved it. Lord Nolen had certainly proven that. Maric wasn't quite ready to face what that meant for himself.


	6. Chapter 6

Dara's mind flickered in and out of consciousness. There was someone else's pain intermingling with his like a trembling flame next to a furnace, and every now and then conversation passed between the people in the room. Dara heard Maric's voice and knew that he was safe.

Dara came awake with a sharp cry of pain as the broken bone in his arm cracked back into alignment. He panted through clenched teeth as he waited for the pain to recede. When a hand stroked his hair, he knew it was Maric’s without needing to open his eyes. Nobody else touched him the way Maric did.

Memories of what happened came back in a rush. A hungry, predatory grin and then falling.

Dara tried to speak, but his throat was too dry for anything but incoherent croaking sounds. His mind drifted as he was propped up against a warm chest. When a cup was pressed to his lips, he drank.

"Lord Nolen," Dara said as soon as he could speak properly again. "It was his slave. Under his command."

"Fraccus," an unfamiliar voice volunteered, and Dara blinked his eyes open to see Lord Nolen's other slave sitting next to his bed. Why he was there seemed like too long a story just then, so Dara didn't ask.

"Not this slave," Dara clarified. "The other one. From dinner."

"Standing behind him. I remember," Maric said, his voice a reassuring vibration against Dara's back.

"Mm," Dara confirmed. "Said Lord Nolen sent him. Lord Nolen wanted him to fuck me, but was talked out of it."

Maric's arms tightened around Dara, though whether out of protectiveness or possessiveness Dara didn't know.

"Don't credit Fraccus for that," the slave said. "If you were a girl, he'd have done it. Becoming aroused enough to take a man is challenging for him."

"I'm going to kill them both," Maric murmured into Dara's hair. Not hyperbole, not ill considered words spoken in anger. He meant it. Dara had never been one for violence, but somehow it made him feel safe. He was protected.

Dara didn't intend to fall asleep, but he must have because he awoke again some indeterminable period later. The pain was mostly gone, leaving hunger, thirst, and exhaustion in its place. Maric was still propping him up, or was propping him up again, and as soon as Dara showed his wakefulness he was offered soup. He let Maric spoon feed him before falling back to sleep.

When next Dara woke he was laying down, no longer in Maric's arms. He flailed his arms out and whimpered, desperate for the reassurance of Maric's company but too exhausted for speech.

"What do you need, sweetheart?" Dara heard Maric ask as a hand brushed against his cheek. Dara fell back to sleep.

The first time Dara awoke feeling more or less alert it was to Maric's arms wrapped around him. It wasn't until he felt Maric's arm against the bare skin of his chest that he realised he was naked. How long had he been unclothed? Who had seen? Dara had changed in front of other slaves many times, but being seen like this by free people, people who had power over him, disconcerted him. Not, he reminded himself, that he was expected to answer to anybody but Maric. Certainly if anyone else laid a hand on him without permission there would be consequences.

It was night time, though Dara suspected not the same night time he'd been pushed from the window. He took longer to recover from such serious injuries. The evenness of Maric's breathing suggested he was asleep, but when Dara cracked his eyes open he saw that Lord Nolen's bed slave was still there and awake, sitting next to the bed in a padded chair with his legs hugged against his chest. Given the situation, anxiety was understandable.

"He's a good man," Dara said, his voice quiet so as not to wake Maric. "He won't let you get dragged down with your master. Especially not after all that bastard has already made you suffer through. He wouldn't have you in here with us if he didn't like you."

The slave still looked uncertain, but he allowed a small smile to curve his lips. "Thank you. I'm Bug."

"Dara."

Bug's smile broadened. "Yes, I certainly know that. His highness has had little attention for anything else since you were injured. He values you a great deal."

"That's right," Maric murmured, his arms tightening around Dara. How long had he been awake?

Dara took hold of one of Maric’s hands and squeezed it. "You'll make sure Bug is taken care of, won't you?"

Maric made a sound of affirmation around a yawn. "I was thinking about that, actually. Bug's an empath, which could be useful. Bug, you said you could feel your master's harmful intentions?"

"Yes, your highness."

"Can you do the same for others? Strangers?"

"Yes, your highness. It's easier to detect nuance from those I know, but I can sense who may be a danger and who is not."

"In a crowd?" Maric asked.

Bug nodded. "Perhaps in a chaotic crowd when many people are feeling very strong emotions like fear or anger it might challenge me, but I have become quite good at identifying threats."

"Well then, I could use you on my guard," Maric said. "There are many people who are about to be displeased with me, and I'm concerned for Dara's safety now that it's public knowledge he's a healer. I would feel better having someone close by who can point out those who might act against us. Do you think you could do that?"

"Yes, your highness, it would be an honor," Bug said. "Would I belong to you?"

"No, one slave is proving quite enough trouble for me." Maric gave Dara's ear a kiss. "You will belong to Brayan, the captain of my guard. He was the one who fetched you for me."

"He was kind to me," Bug said, though there was uncertainty in his voice. Anxiety.

"Brayan will kill a man without hesitation if it's necessary, and he does a fine job of keeping his men in line," Maric explained. "He also once found an abandoned kitten and kept it with us while we travelled across half the country, sacrificing part of his rations to keep it fed. He may certainly take fancy with you, but he wouldn't dream of causing you harm."

Bug bit back a smile. "He was very handsome. He wears his uniform well."

"He looks better out of it," Maric said, and an unexpected wave of jealousy surged through Dara. Bug's eyes cut to him and Dara dipped his head in embarrassment. He belonged to the prince, not the other way around. He had no reason to expect exclusivity. Sooner or later, Maric's interests would wander to others.

When sleep began dragging down on his mind again, Dara didn't fight it.

#

For a time Maric had been too concerned and tired to think much of holding Dara's naked body in his arms, but after he was confident Dara was fine and had slept for a while he couldn't help but start to respond to Dara's nudity. Maric had never met anyone with such a beautiful body, well proportioned and with soft, milky skin. Dara shifted in his sleep as Maric trailed a hand down his stomach. A few minutes later, Dara's breathing stuttered as he woke to Maric's hand on his dick.

"Good morning," Maric murmured against Dara’s shoulder.

Dara made a sound of approval and stretched out, but a moment later he stilled. It took Maric a second to pinpoint the problem. Bug was still there, sitting in the chair next to the bed.

"You're going to have to get used to a lack of privacy," Maric said as he continued to stroke Dara. "There will be times when we won't be able to have it."

"Where's the blanket, can we at least...?"

"For goodness sake, Dara, it's only Bug. _Relax_."

"I won't watch," Bug assured Dara, his eyes aimed at the floor.

The tension in Dara's body didn't quite fade as they continued, but he remained hard and he responded to Maric's touch. The constraints of Maric's pants were beginning to feel uncomfortable, so he reached a hand down to unbutton them and release himself so that he could rub bare flesh against the cleft of Dara's ass.

Dara was quieter than usual, responding with nothing more than heavy breathing and gasps regardless of what Maric did. If Dara had been as vocally demonstrative as he usually was, Maric probably would have missed Bug's sharp, shaky inhale. Maric looked up to find Bug with his arms wrapped around his legs and his face buried against his knees, his shoulders tense and trembling slightly.

"What, Bug?" Maric asked, his voice coming out more impatient than intended.

Bug glanced up to show red, watery eyes. His voice sounded unsteady when he spoke. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disrupt you. I’m just raw right now. I'm picking up feelings more strongly than I normally would."

Maric's hand relinquished its hold on Dara's erection and slid up his stomach instead. "And arousal upsets you?"

Bug's lips tugged down into a confused frown. "No, he... he is just unhappy. With being watched."

Maric's stomach dropped. Dara objected to this enough that his second hand feelings were making Bug cry? Maric tugged a hand on Dara's shoulder to roll him over, and Dara complied without resistance.

"Dara, look at me," Maric said when Dara's eyes lingered on his chest. His gaze flicked up to Maric's face, but what Maric saw in them was more troubling than distress. There was no emotion on his face at all.

Maric bit back on his rage, but when he said Dara's name he found he still sounded angry, commanding. All it achieved was Dara lowering his gaze again, an act of submission as clear as a dog showing its belly.

Maric let out a frustrated sigh and sat up so that he could see Bug properly. "Can you explain this?"

"Has your mind never retreated from something you didn't care to experience?" Bug asked.

Maric’s lips pressed together in a tight line as he remembered all the times he’d done exactly that. As a child, as a soldier. "He hardly seemed opposed. Just... reserved."

Bug stood from his chair and picked up the blanket that had fallen onto the floor. Maric took it and wrapped it around both himself and Dara. It was a relief when Dara wrapped an arm around Maric and hugged him close.

Bug hovered uncertainly next to the bed. "The body and the mind can sometimes disagree. Being on display makes him feel exposed, like a tool when he prefers to see you as a lover. I'm sorry I didn't stop you. I didn't realise you cared."

"Well he could have fucking said something!" Maric growled, and when Dara clung closer this time Maric wasn't sure if he should take it as a reassurance.

"He did," was all Bug said.

Maric's clenched his teeth together against the urge to lash out. "Get out, just..." He lifted a hand to point towards the door. "Go."

Bug nodded and quickly left the room.

Maric wanted to hit something, but all he could do was hold Dara's delicate body in his arms. He didn’t speak, not until he could keep his rage aimed solely at himself, until Dara began to emerge from wherever he’d disappeared to inside of himself and started twining their fingers together.

"I won't make you do that again," Maric told the top of Dara's head. "If you had told me..." Maric sighed and shook his head. Dara _had_ told him. Why had Maric expected any rejection of his affections from a submissive and obedient slave to be anything but tentative and yielding?

"You said I'd have to get used to it," Dara whispered against Maric's chest.

"I'd rather let you go entirely than take you unwillingly." Maric breathed out a sigh into Dara's hair. "My beautiful boy. I want to see you glow, not take your shine away. I want you to find comfort in my touch, not fear. I'll give you jewels and pastries, pleasure you on silken sheets and leave myself wanting if that's what you desire."

Dara let out a breathy laugh against Maric's chest. "You talk such pretty words."

"I mean it. My body is yours for whatever use you wish. My money, too, if you want gifts. Please forgive me my selfishness."

"Oh really? Just a few days ago you were telling me to get involved, but not presume. Now you promise me whatever I wish?"

Maric grinned against the top of Dara's head. He liked when Dara spoke to him as though they were of equal status. "I have done many things wrong with you. Bringing my status into bed with me has been nothing but a hazard.”

"I think this is why you're really not supposed to have sex with healers," Dara said. "It can be a minefield, especially where power imbalance is involved. But when done right... I wouldn't want to be denied that."

"Then tell me what you most enjoy, what I can offer you in recompense." Maric trailed a hand down Dara's spine. "Ask and you shall receive."

There was a stretch of silence, and Maric half wished he hadn't evicted Bug from the room. He was now all too aware of the dangerous path he trod.

"I like... your mouth," Dara said eventually. There was hesitance in his voice, uncertainty, as though he was concerned there was a secret correct answer and that was not it.

"Mm?" Maric hummed as he applied that mouth to Dara's ear.

" _Ngh_. Um, yes. On..."

Maric reached a hand down and wrapped it around Dara's hardening cock.

"Yes," Dara said, half word, half exhale.

Maric kept the blanket over them as he trailed a line of kisses down Dara's chest, down his belly and lower. By the time he took Dara into his mouth, Dara was fully hard. The sounds Dara made, the way he could barely keep himself still, were the most satisfying things about being with him. He was so real, so genuine. Maric couldn't believe himself, couldn't believe he'd almost settled for reluctant acceptance rather than do what was necessary to get this enthusiasm. Never again.

Dara came with his hands clutching Maric shoulders. Not pushing him down, just there. Maric swallowed, pulled back, and planted a kiss on one of Dara's delicate wrists.

Dara gave a hum of satisfaction and tugged Maric back up to lay next to him. Once they were settled he asked, "What can I do for you?"

It was tempting to ask for a return of the favour — within the limits of Dara's boundaries, of course — or perhaps just a helping hand. He had been selfish and self centred, though, a bad lover, and Dara was too firmly aware of their respective statuses to be the one to punish him for it. Or perhaps simply too forgiving.

Maric gave Dara a kiss on the forehead. "It's not much of an apology if I accept something in return, is it? Tonight, perhaps. For now, if you're feeling up to it, you should wash up and get dressed so that I can take you to the markets."

Dara still seemed a bit tired, but mention of the markets gave him new energy. Seeing him wash himself and change into his only remaining uniform did nothing to cool Maric's desire. In the end he had to send Dara ahead with the guard he'd placed outside the door to give himself time to calm his arousal.

#

Dara felt nervous leaving the room without Maric, but he trusted Maric's men to protect him. Bug's company helped too, made him feel less conspicuous. He had previously been the only slave in their group, a lonely state despite all the attention Maric had offered him.

Brayan was waiting for them outside the palace, and when he saw Dara he grinned. The slight raise of an eyebrow but otherwise dismissal he gave Bug's presence suggested he had not yet been informed of Maric's plans.

"And where is our prince this fine morning?" Brayan asked as he turned Dara around, examining his form. He ran a hand through Dara's hair, checking his scalp for any breaks.

"He'll be down in a moment," Dara said when he realised he was the one being addressed.

"Very well," Brayan said before turning his attention to Bug. "Now, what's the story with this little one? Has his highness taken a fancy to him too?"

"Don't know," one of Maric's men who had brought them down said. "Maric kicked this one out of his room earlier, and then he followed us down just now. No official instructions on what's to be done with him."

"Um, I..." Bug fidgeted, took a step back. "He didn't say..."

Dara took hold of Bug's wrist before he could flee. "Maric will explain things when he comes down, I'm sure."

Brayan's lips stretched into a grin. "Learning to stand tall, I see. Or remembering, perhaps?"

Dara almost laughed at himself when he noticed he had dropped his gaze. He met Brayan's eyes again. "It's easier to raise someone to be self important than it is to teach someone to act it after they've seen the truth of the world."

Brayan shrugged. "The truth of the world is that it's complicated. It may seem hideous, but I can assure you it's beautiful as well."

Dara couldn't help but smile as he thought back to the loving attention he'd received from Maric, a prince of all things, earlier that morning. "I am starting to see the good as well."

Brayan clapped a hand on Dara's shoulder. "It's all about the company you keep, really. We're a fine bunch once you get to know us. Maric is very selective about who he allows close to him." Brayan's lips drew up into a smile and he nodded his head in the direction of the palace. "Speaking of."

Dara couldn't help his own smile when he spotted Maric. It seemed the prince grew more handsome each time Dara saw him. Or perhaps it was simply the way he looked at Dara that had been changing, that little smile that made promises of what would come later, and a certain softness he reserved for Dara alone.

"What's this?" Brayan asked with a wave of his hand in Bug's direction as soon as Maric was within speaking distance.

Maric came to a stop in front of them. "He's an empath. Useful for your guard, I believe."

Brayan turned to look Bug over more carefully, a frown of consideration forming on his face. "Not much good for fighting. Even if he could— Well, he's an empath, as you said. Threat detection, you think?"

Maric inclined his head in confirmation. "I've spoken to him and he believes he is capable of performing the role."

"Could be useful," Brayan agreed.

"He'll need a master, and I believe you to be best suited," Maric told him. "Any objections?"

Brayan gave his full attention to Bug as he examined him closely. There was so much tension in Bug's body that he was shaking as Brayan lifted his chin to examine his face.

"He's trained as a bed slave, but Lord Nolen was not a kind master," Maric explained. "His suitability for any recreational uses are not assured and would need to be explored with caution."

Brayan nodded distractedly as he stroked his thumb down Bug's jaw. A moment ago Bug had gone mostly ignored, but now that Brayan knew Bug was his he already seemed enamoured with him. "Pretty."

"There is damage, unfortunately, though Lord Nolen made sure to keep it in areas it could be hidden," Maric said. "Bug, take off your shirt."

Bug dropped his head away from Brayan's touch and set shaky fingers to work on the buttons of his shirt.

"Maric," Dara said, more reflexive than planned. When he suddenly had everyone's attention there was a stretch of silence where he didn't quite know what to do with it. "Maric, he... Do you not see how uncomfortable you're making him, or do you not care? It can be so difficult to tell with you sometimes."

For a moment Maric looked like he might be angry, but then he waved a hand at Bug to dismiss his command and turned his attention back to Brayan. "Anyway, he's yours now so you can examine him fully later. His true purpose will be on your guard, so it hardly matters."

Brayan gave a firm nod of his head. "He'll need to learn some confidence, of course, but if he can do what he claims I'm sure he can earn his keep. I want him in our uniform, though. Dressed by role, not status."

"We'll be staying here for several days while things get sorted," Maric said as he slowly started walking, leading them away from the palace. "I'll make sure to send someone up to measure him so that clothing can be made for him along with Dara's."

They continued talking a while longer as they left palace grounds, but before long Brayan fell back to walk alongside Bug and Maric gestured for Dara to join him at the front of the group. The smile he gave Dara was small and intimate.

"Sorry," Dara said. "For speaking out of turn before. I just... It's your right to have him do whatever you wish, to have anyone beneath you obey you without question. But... you didn't seem to realise when you upset me. I thought you should know his feelings, and issue your commands with them in mind."

"There will be those who are displeased if you're so lacking in subtlety in the wrong company," Maric warned. "But on this occasion I am grateful you spoke up. The boy's been through enough already. I'm used to slaves well trained with a gentle hand who aren't so easily troubled."

"I don't understand why you ever took me," Dara said. "You didn't know I was anything more than a failed bed slave. You could have had any slave you wanted."

Maric was silent for a moment, his lips pressed together in consideration. "Guilt was an aspect, I suppose. You were my responsibility, and my absence had allowed harm to come to you. There was curiosity, too, for you have always been a curious little thing. I suppose I mostly just thought it would be fun to have something I needed to work for. It didn't hurt that you're quite pretty, of course."

Maric gave Dara a smile. "Shallow reasons mostly, I suppose, but it's difficult to be anything but shallow with someone you've just met."

"I was driven by fear," Dara admitted as they turned onto the busy main street leading into the markets. "Perhaps there would have been lust or admiration, a sense of duty, but fear was too much a driving force to leave room for anything else."

Maric took hold of Dara's hand and entangled it with his. "You came with me in hope of escaping pain. Look how fine a job I've done of keeping you safe."

"I'll endure ten times the pain and gladly if it means waking up safe and warm in your arms rather than naked and bloody on a cold dungeon floor."

Maric came to a sudden stop, halting Dara by their joined hands. Dara's stomach clenched in fear, but before he could ask what was wrong, whether there was some danger, Maric had wrapped him in his arms. Oh. _Oh_. Somehow, despite how close they'd grown over the few days they'd known one another, the tight embrace of Maric's arms still surprised Dara. It still surprised him that somebody — a prince — cared about his wellbeing.

"Maric, come on," Brayan said from behind them. "People are staring. They won't respect you if they find out how adorable you are."

Maric pulled away but kept hold of Dara's hand. "Then they shall answer to your steel. I am sick of being a performer."

Brayan gave Dara a smile. "Every time time his obligations lead him to diplomacy he gets like this. He usually lasts at least two weeks before getting this obstinate, of course. This is a new record."

"Well, my apologies if someone I allowed to be in a position of power attempting to murder my lover makes me grumpy." Maric tugged on Dara's arm as he turned away from Brayan. "Are you hungry? I believe there's a place that sells apple pastries around here somewhere."

It was odd, having so much of Maric's attention as they browsed through the market stalls. The only attention Dara usually received from Maric when his men were around was brief flirtation and promises of future pleasure. This, though, had nothing to do with sex. Every now and then Brayan made a comment about something, but most of Maric's attention was for Dara, and Brayan, well... Brayan had Bug to keep him amused.

Whether it was a hand on his shoulder or back, Brayan always seemed to be in contact with Bug, keeping him close and away from the push of the crowd. They spoke quietly, but the few things Dara overheard either concerned Bug's ability or were simply casual attempts to make conversation on Brayan's part that Bug awkwardly blundered through.

Maric kept offering to buy Dara anything that caught his interest, up to and including womens' jewelry. Dara accepted food, accepted new boots and half a dozen books — which Maric made two of his men carry — but declined the rest. Dara was grateful to Maric for keeping them well clear of the slave markets, especially for Bug's sake. Dara was a healer, too valuable to ever have been sold in such a place, but it was most likely where Lord Nolen had come into possession of Bug.

It was only a couple of hours before Dara's energy levels began to fail him and he was left yawning and leaning heavily against Maric's side at every opportunity. Dara didn't want to spoil the trip for everyone else, but Maric insisted it was time to head back to the palace. Dara was just thankful he was able to talk Maric out of carrying him.

Maric got Dara settled in bed and then went to the door. "I have things I need to take care of, but I'll post guards at the door. If you require anything, ask them and they'll ensure it's provided to you."

It was a sign of just how spoilt Dara had become under Maric's care that he had to stop himself from asking Maric not to leave. Maric was a prince, an important man regardless of how easy his gentle attention made it for Dara to forget. There were things that needed Maric's time far more than a pretty slave.

Dara nodded his understanding as he fought back another yawn, and then rolled over and pulled the blankets up around his shoulders when Maric left. It didn't take long for him to fall asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my writing tumblr, potatoewrites, for a bonus short between Bug and Brayan.


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